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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587330">After the War</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheiasilva/pseuds/antheiasilva'>antheiasilva</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Dissociation, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Intergenerational Trauma, M/M, Nightmares, Obi-Wan Kenobi Has PTSD, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Post-Canon Fix-It, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, compassion - Freeform, mild body horror</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:08:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheiasilva/pseuds/antheiasilva</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight months after the war, in an old family cottage in the lake district of Naboo, Obi-Wan Kenobi is still trying to come home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leia Organa &amp; Anakin Skywalker &amp; Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker &amp; Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi &amp; Leia Organa, Padmé Amidala &amp; Leia Organa &amp; Luke Skywalker, Padmé Amidala &amp; Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala &amp; Qui-Gon Jinn, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn &amp; Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn &amp; Leia Organa, Qui-Gon Jinn &amp; Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>321</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Late afternoon sun spills into the cozy living room on the west side of the cottage nestled between old growth forest and a meandering set of small lakes.</p><p>The couch underneath Obi-Wan is soft and sags a little in the middle. The teal fabric is worn by generations of Naberrie children who bounced and wriggled as they watched holovids and defended their home from swamp monsters or droid invaders. A bucket of dusty toys waits for their latest member, who squirms in his arms, her five fingers tightly coiled around his one in triumph. </p><p>She is so small. Obi-Wan can hardly believe this tiny package contains so much human. </p><p>Was he ever that small? So concerned with food and sleeping and the next pair of bright eyes?</p><p>The tap tap tap of Qui-Gon cutting summer squash in the kitchen across the hall interrupts his thoughts. Qui-Gon is humming softly, some melody Obi-Wan can't quite make out.</p><p>He looks down at his little charge, a corner of his mouth tugging him towards a smile. She stares at him for a long moment, as if deciding something important. Then she open her mouth and wails.</p><p>The hair on the back of his neck stands up as all of his muscles clench. His spine stiffens. His eyes find the door.</p><p>It doesn't matter that Leia's piercing cry is nothing like the screech of clankers or blare of sirens. His left arm tightens around her and his right claws at his belt for a saber that languishes in his room. </p><p>"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice is low. He has dropped to one knee in front of him, the caff table pushed aside.</p><p>Qui-Gon's eyes are grey in the afternoon light. His arm on Obi-Wan's shoulder is firm and steady.</p><p>They breathe together. In and Out. </p><p>The couch dips under Qui-Gon's weight. He's so close their thighs and shoulders press together. Obi-Wan swallows and closes his eyes. He cannot look at her as he hands her to Qui-Gon. Heat flares through him and then he sinks, down into the couch, into his robes, sliding until Qui-Gon's hand takes his.</p><p>"The war is over," Obi-Wan grinds out, pulling his hand away.</p><p>Qui-Gon exhales and Obi-Wan can feel his shoulders drop a fraction before he hoists Leia higher. She has settled now, safe in familiar arms.</p><p>"Shhh," Qui-Gon murmurs.</p><p>Obi-Wan wills himself upright and still. He squeezes his eyes shut.</p><p>Gentle fingers brush his hair as Qui-Gon steps away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dinners in the Naberrie family cottage are communal. Qui-Gon has assured him that this custom arose long before his arrival. It makes sense. They spent years split apart across the galaxy. Anakin still scans the room until every one of them arrives.</p><p>The dining room is white, with exposed wooden beams and a slanted skylight. Floor to ceiling windows look out onto the lawn and the forest beyond, where the fuzzy voorpak and tooke scamper. The babies love to watch the peko-peko birds with their colourful tall feathers. </p><p>Today, Luke squirms in Ahsoka’s arms, pointing. An Ikopi and her calf are munching on the patch of ferns. Ahsoka carries Luke to the window so he can press his fingers and nose against the glass.</p><p>Qui-Gon serves soup, hot and fragrant and green from the rows of vegetables nestled on the eastern side of the house. These days, Qui-Gon smells like earth and fresh green things. No more standard-issue soap and the ionized Temple air. It helps to remind Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon lives here now. </p><p>Padme is laughing at the flour in Anakin’s hair while he cuts a fresh loaf into slices. He places the pieces gently in a woven basket with a bright orange napkin that stands out against the deep blue tablecloth. </p><p>“What?” Anakin asks her indignantly. “Are you saying I’m messy?”</p><p>“Well, yes,” she retorts, casting a glance at Obi-Wan. </p><p>He blinks and Padme’s eyes soften for a moment before she shakes her head and turns back to Anakin. </p><p>“I like the grey,” she says with a teasing smile. </p><p>“Oh yeah?” He smirks and then he shakes the white powder onto her head. She shrieks in mock protest and then pulls him into a kiss. </p><p>Leia claps and babbles from her high chair. </p><p>The sky behind them is fading to pink as the sun casts shadows from the forest, stretching like long fingers across the lawn. </p><p>“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asks, handing him his bowl. The textured ceramic is hot and Obi-Wan’s hands tremble as he settles it on his plate. Some of it spills over the rim, scalding his hand. </p><p>There is a strange flurry and then Anakin is pressing a cold pack against his hand and Qui-Gon is asking Padme about the bacta patches in the downstairs refresher.</p><p>He puts his free hand over the ice pack and looks out at the shadows as the cold burns and burns.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Eight months ago</i>
</p><p> </p><p>At dusk, the Coruscant skyline sparkles through the arching windows of the Council Chamber. </p><p>“Anakin is our most powerful Jedi,” Ki-Adi Mundi says. “He has the best chance of succeeding.” </p><p>Yoda hmms and strokes his wrinkled chin.</p><p>Qui-Gon glowers, jaw set. “Execution is not the Jedi way. He is in custody.”</p><p>“Too dangerous Palpatine is to be left alive. Release him, the courts will. Warped and twisted reality he has,” Yoda says. </p><p>Depa Billaba inhales and shakes her head. “He has wrought his own fate.” She pauses. “Is Skywalker strong enough to face him?”</p><p>Dread rises in Obi-Wan’s chest. “You cannot send Anakin. He will not come back.” His voice rings in the half-empty room. </p><p>“I don’t see what choice we have,” Mace says. </p><p>Obi-Wan thinks he’s going to be sick. He looks around the chamber as a terrible truth dawns on him. They are all so angry. Even Qui-Gon. </p><p>But he feels nothing. </p><p>Adi Gallia turns to Obi-Wan, tears in her eyes.</p><p>Obi-Wan looks down. Everything around him quiets and stills. He takes a deep breath and reaches for all of the love he has in his heart for his padawan. He thinks of Padme, carrying Anakin’s child. He looks at Qui-Gon, whose eyes widen in horror.</p><p><i>I’m sorry, Master.</i> </p><p>“I will go,” Obi-Wan says.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Present day</i>
</p><p> </p><p>He wakes up screaming, clawing at his forearms to extract the inky darkness creeping in his veins. He’s so cold, he can’t stop shaking. He kicks at the tangled bedsheets, desperate to free his limbs. </p><p>The night casts grey shadows. He shakes his head, eyes narrowed, trying to focus. He bites his tongue to keep from crying out further, but he scratches at his chest now.</p><p>A figure bursts through the door. Lit from behind, he towers in the doorway. Obi-Wan scrambles backwards, hand reaching for his lightsaber, remembering too late that the crystal hangs on a cord beside his bed. </p><p>He grips the metal hilt anyway.</p><p>“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon pleads, flicking on the bedside lamp with the Force.</p><p>His master is shirtless and barefoot, hair wild. He is on the bed in an instant, pulling Obi-Wan into his arms.  </p><p>Obi-Wan tries to push away, but Qui-Gon holds him until the blackness in his mind’s eye fades. He keens against Qui-Gon's chest, tears hot between his cheek and Qui-Gon's bare skin.</p><p>"Shhhhhh," Qui-Gon urges, rocking them both. He runs a hand up and down the damp fabric on Obi-Wan's back.</p><p>The pain inside him is unbearable. He is being torn apart.</p><p>"I'm here, Obi-Wan. We're at Padme's house. The war is over,” Qui-Gon says.</p><p>Obi-Wan swallows a searing lump in his throat. "What if I can't come back?"</p><p>Qui-Gon lets out a sob and kisses the top of Obi-Wan’s head. He hugs Obi-Wan closer. Obi-Wan can feel tears in his hair. </p><p> "Just stay here. Stay here with me." </p><p>Qui-Gon is crying. Obi-Wan can't remember the last time he heard Qui-Gon cry. Something inside him stirs and wakes.  Something outside of him softens. </p><p>The moonlight is silver-white through the skylight. He can smell the mustiness of the old wood beams and dusty fabric of the cottage bedroom. A  memory winks to the surface like a star on the horizon.</p><p>Once upon a time, he and Qui-Gon went to a retreat centre at the Temple of Karsol. The rooms smelled like wood and dust there too. There were gardens and mist over the lake at dawn.</p><p>"Do you remember Karsol?" he asks, voice hoarse.</p><p>"Karsol?" Qui-Gon looks at him in wonder. His eyes are bright and the moonlight sharpens his features with shadows. His hair is so long now, half-gathered in a braid down his back. </p><p>He studies Obi-Wan’s face for a moment, his thumb brushing Obi-Wan's cheek where his beard begins.</p><p>The corner of Qui-Gon’s mouth curls up. He blinks slowly and nods. "Yes, I do."</p><p>"This place…" Obi-Wan casts his eyes from side to side. Qui-Gon is still holding him tightly.</p><p>Qui-Gon sighs and relaxes his hold a fraction. "Yes. I can see that."</p><p>"I liked Karsol," Obi-Wan says quietly, then tips his forehead to Qui-Gon’s collarbone and yawns.</p><p>Qui-Gon exhales and presses his lips to Obi-Wan’s head once more. After a long moment, he leans them back, pulls up the wayward bedcovers and smooths them over Obi-Wan's body.  He reaches over Obi-Wan to place the lightsaber on the nightstand, then lies on his back and tucks Obi-Wan against him. Obi-Wan presses his ear against Qui-Gon's chest. The heat of his bare skin seeps into Obi-Wan's.  </p><p>Qui-Gon shuts the door and turns out the light with the Force. Obi-Wan feels his breathing slow in time with Qui-Gon’s and sinks deeper into the bed.</p><p>Qui-Gon’s voice is rough when he speaks. "I liked Karsol too."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Obi-Wan stands on the small dock, looking out over the misty lake. The sky is still pale, the sun inching above the horizon. The caff in his mug is too strong. Qui-Gon knows the right proportions, but he is up before Qui-Gon today. </p><p>He hasn’t slept through the night in at least a week.</p><p>His days are aimless. He still wears his Jedi robes every day. The layers of tunics, his obi, his belt, his boots—these things have an order. He pulls his belt tighter these days. The pressure helps him know where the edges of his body are. </p><p>The air is crisp and cool, but the day will be hot. He can smell the reeds and damp sand. Anakin promised to take Ahsoka fishing, as if he’s ever been before. She has started calling him  <i>nerran</i>, which means ‘big brother’ in Togruta. </p><p>She calls Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon <i>irn'a</i>, uncle. Qui-Gon smiles every time.  </p><p>Anakin doesn’t wear robes any more. He loves colour: deep blues and greens, rich reds, golden yellows, pale orange, pink. He wears everything. For him, the world is a paradise now. He tinkers in his workshop. He cooks with Qui-Gon and Ahsoka. He takes walks with Padme. They go out with the babies strapped to their chests and holding hands. </p><p>He can’t think about how close the Order came to taking everything from his padawan. </p><p>Qui-Gon wears his robes less and less. He says Naboo is too hot. He wears flowing shirts and linen trousers that make Obi-Wan feel like his eyes are out of focus. He has taken over the kitchen. There are seven of them in the sprawling cottage and food prep is endless, but Qui-Gon doesn’t seem to mind. Anakin jokes that Obi-Was lucky to miss the first few months on Naboo. After decades of Temple refectory food, Qui-Gon had little skill and even less taste. Now there is always something baking or bubbling or slow cooking. Sometimes Qui-Gon wears Padme’s grandmother’s floral apron. </p><p>He knows it’s only a matter of time until Qui-Gon leaves the Order too. The thought leaves him feeling untethered, like his mag boots have lost their charge and he’s floating away from the ship. </p><p>He grips his mug tighter and sips the tepid liquid. The chittering of peko-peko chicks announces footsteps and soon there’s a warm hand on his back.</p><p>“They recognize you,” Obi-Wan says.</p><p>“They recognize bread crusts,” Qui-Gon huffs, tossing the broken crusts from the pocket of his knit cardigan to the eager chirping mouths.</p><p>“Did you eat?” Qui-Gon asks, eyeing Obi-Wan’s coffee mug. </p><p>Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I can’t remember.” </p><p>“In seventeen minutes, there will be blumfruit muffins,” Qui-Gon says.</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“And I made caff.”</p><p>Qui-Gon tosses the last of the breadcrumbs to the birds and then takes off his cardigan and drapes it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. The sweater is warm and soft and smells like Qui-Gon and yeast. Obi-Wan tugs it closed with one hand. </p><p>“Padme needs help in the garden today,” Qui-Gon says. “The tubers are ready. And we need to replant the lettuce.”</p><p>Obi-Wan nods. </p><p>Qui-Gon draws in a deep breath. “It will be hot today. I will put sunscreen in Anakin and Ahsoka’s lunch basket. He always forgets.”</p><p>Obi-Wan shakes his head. “He doesn’t forget. He hates it.”</p><p>Qui-Gon snorts. “You could go with them,” he suggests. </p><p>“I couldn’t get him to wear sunscreen when he was ten. I certainly won’t now.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean for that. Just to get out.”</p><p>“What about the garden?”</p><p>“We’ll manage.”</p><p>Obi-Wan shudders despite the heat of the sweater. “I can’t.”</p><p>Qui-Gon looks at him with concerned brows. </p><p>Obi-Wan stares out over the lake. The mist is clearing now. He swallows the sourness rising in his throat. “They might catch something.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The earth under his hands is soft. The top layer is dry and sandy, but the rich loam underneath is damp and sweet-smelling. Obi-Wan digs little dents with his trowel next to each tomato seedling. They lie in rows, spaced out for his hands to plant. Qui-Gon measured them before he went into town with Padme. </p><p>It’s their day for groceries. They will come home with crates for the month. Padme will visit her sister who lives in the city.  Her mother may be there too. They have taken Leia with them. She likes the noise and lights and colours. When they brought Luke, he screamed and cried until Qui-Gon took him back to the speeder and distracted him with quinberry pudding. </p><p>Obi-Wan thinks he rather knows how he feels. </p><p>Presently the soon-to-be toddler is sitting in the corner of the garden, whacking a pile of dirt with a tiny plastic shovel, one of the many toys that populate the cupboards and corners of the house. Padme has stories about some of them, and she tells them with a wistfulness for childhood that twists around his heart, like he's recognizing something he never had and something that was taken from her too soon. Anakin smiles and asks questions about cousins and aunts and uncles, mentally plotting the winding family tree upon which he, Padme and the twins now form a branch. But his eyes always look distant.  </p><p>Qui-Gon usually finds a reason to duck away. The kitchen affords him this opportunity. His face goes flat and he closes his eyes and then 'remembers' the tea or cocoa cake or roast that needs to be turned.</p><p>Obi-Wan wonders what pain strikes Qui-Gon in those moments, but he can never find his voice to ask. </p><p>He doesn't like when Qui-Gon is away. It makes stomach tighten and his bones rattle. </p><p>He puts his trowel into the earth and makes an opening, puts the seedling in and pats it down, tucks another layer of loam on top. He and Ahsoka will spread the topsoil when he’s finished and then water. </p><p>He digs the next hole and there's a little more resistance. He looks closer and freezes, horror flashing through him. There's blood in the soil and a pink wriggling line. He's cut an earthworm in half. He drops his trowel. He keels over, dry heaving, and feels a sinking pull, down, down, down. He knows this road now and this time he grits his teeth against the dark chasm that beckons.</p><p>He drags forward a memory. Master Tahl. The Room of a Thousand Fountains. Artificial sunlight. Her elegant hands taking a broken worm from him. He made this mistake once before, nearly thirty years ago now. He hears her voice.</p><p>
  <i>Earthworms might seem the lowliest of creatures, but they have a power stronger than most senients. When they are cut in half, even though a part of them dies, the rest can regenerate. Remember that, Obi-Wan. </i>
</p><p>He squeezes his eyes shut and sends a wordless prayer and apology to the worm. He hopes the Force conveys his sorrow, for all that might mean to an earthworm. He wants it to know he hadn't meant to hurt it. </p><p>His hands tremble, but he plants the seedling, and the next, and then the next, until the row is finished.</p><p>He looks up at the expanse of blue sky with fluffy white clouds drifting. The sun is higher now. He gets to his feet, wobbling a little, and retrieves his water bottle. The liquid is cold and clear and settles the last of his nausea.</p><p>He kneels down at the start of the next row.</p><p>Behind him Luke squeals, and Ahsoka comes running from where she's been filling up the watering cans. The youngest Skywalker has flattened his pile of dirt, scattered grains in his hair and on his face. He scrunches his face up in distaste. He looks so like Anakin, surly and affronted, whenever he had to practice the slowest katas or write essays. </p><p>There's something so absurd about it that Obi-Wan laughs.</p><p>Ahsoka drops the watering cans and stares. A smile breaks across her face.</p><p>Luke also stares at this new sound, brows as furrowed as can be, before deciding that he likes it. He claps and laughs and digs his shovel into the soil and flicks it, spraying earth everywhere. </p><p>Grains of sand hit Obi-Wan in the face. He sputters and brushes them off. "Just wait til we take you to the beach, young one." </p><p>Ahsoka's eyes widen and she swallows. A tear escapes down her cheek. And then she's on her knees hugging him, the seedlings all askew.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Some days the dark chasm inside him cannot touch him, and today is one of those days. Sunlight streams in through the kitchen window so brightly that little dust motes sparkle in the air. He has been preparing food with Qui-Gon for the last few hours. They work in companionable silence, familiar except that now they cut vegetables and knead dough.</p><p>The strawberries are ready and Padme's family has come to help. </p><p>He had agreed to the visit last week. Padme is always very careful when she asks. As kind as they are, her family is sizable and her nieces and nephews are boisterous and energetic. He spent their last visit in his room listening to meditation sequences. </p><p>He can't meditate anymore, but the narrator's voices are always calming and some days it doesn't hurt so much to think about what he can't do. Qui-Gon is always reassuring and endlessly optimistic. But Obi-Wan knows now that Qui-Gon's idealism hides things, even from himself.</p><p>Sometimes there is relief in remembering what he is missing. </p><p>Perhaps today will be like that because when the cottage is full, it's not unlike the Temple. The scampering children remind him of younglings in the gardens, watched over by older padawans and masters. For some, seven would be a big family, but he was used to a family of thousands, living and working and growing and learning under one massive roof. </p><p>He wonders if he will ever return to the Temple. </p><p>He has been stirring lemonade and the thought stills his hand. Qui-Gon looks up from where he is laying out sandwiches on a platter. </p><p>“Obi-Wan?”</p><p>He blinks. “It’s nothing.”</p><p>“Promise me you’ll duck out if it’s too much? Everyone will understand.” Qui-Gon’s voice is soft. His eyes are brilliant blue in the light and they show their worry openly these days.</p><p>Obi-Wan huffs and resumes stirring. He wants to say <i>don’t worry,</i> but he nods instead. </p><p>***</p><p>He finds the children easier to be around than the adults. They ask questions because they are curious. They share facts and stories because they want to. There are six of them in all and Obi-Wan can’t remember their names. Every time he sees them, they are taller. The oldest one is twelve or thirteen and she looks so much like Queen Amidala that he and Qui-Gon share a wide-eyed look.</p><p>Some of the children are playing on the swing set that Qui-Gon and Ahsoka built last week. The others meander through the strawberry patches collecting loose handfuls that they drop in the yellow bowl at the edge of the garden. The twins are mashing plastic animal figures around in their sandbox. The adults sit at the long trestle table, watching and talking, the remnants of the meal growing stale in the heat. They sip wine and pick at the remainders of dessert. There is much praise for Qui-Gon’s culinary skills, which Qui-Gon tries to share and Obi-Wan deflects.  </p><p>He sits silently, toying with the edge of a stray napkin, half listening to the chatter. He wants to want to join the conversation, but the truth is he knows little of raising children, home decorating or household finances. He has no love for speeders and no stomach for galactic politics. It is good that the Reintegration movement is progressing and that Bail Organa is the Chancellor. Beyond that, he does not want to know. Not yet. </p><p>Padme’s uncle Jeness is here today and his grey haired, blue robed, thin lipped, nasal voice sets Obi-Wan on edge. He doesn’t remember meeting him before. He has a kind of self-importance that wearies Obi-Wan. </p><p>Anakin is telling a story of Leia’s first words, “lum” presumably meaning “blumfruit”. He is trying so hard to impress his in-laws, especially Jeness. It unsettles Obi-Wan, but he doesn’t know why.</p><p>Now the uncle is telling a long story about some accolade he was granted for business innovations or economic growth or something during the war. </p><p>Obi-Wan sips his lemonade and catches Qui-Gon's eyes. Qui-Gon looks bored. He gives him the tight smile that Obi-Wan recognizes from the worst of their interminable negotiations or long-winded officials’ speeches. </p><p>Obi-Wan smiles back, just a little curve at the left side of his mouth with his lips pressed together. </p><p>He is unprepared for Qui-Gon's reaction: Qui-Gon inhales sharply, eyes wide and glinting. Then he closes his eyes with an air of reverence and his lips move in silent thanks. </p><p>Warmth spills through Obi-Wan's chest and he has the strangest urge to reach across the table to take Qui-Gon's hand.</p><p>In that moment, Jeness calls on him. "General Kenobi, you're a quiet one. Surely you've a war story or two to share. Nothing too unpleasant, of course. Don't want to upset the ladies."</p><p>There is a collective gasp and Obi-Wan freezes. </p><p>Qui-Gon is on his feet in an instant. "Obi-Wan, will you help me with the tea?"</p><p>But Obi-Wan can't move. He can't move, and he can't breathe, and everything is too hot. His face burns and he longs to vanish.  </p><p>At the corner of his vision, Padme scolds her uncle and storms away from the table. Her mother hurries after. Anakin sits stone-faced and still.</p><p>Qui-Gon is at his side. "Come," he says. When Obi-Wan doesn't stand, Qui-Gon takes hand and squeezes it and then he is drifting back to the house, led by Qui-Gon.</p><p>As soon as they reach the kitchen, Qui-Gon is apologizing. He pulls out a chair for Obi-Wan and grabs the kettle. </p><p>"I'm sorry Obi-Wan. I shouldn't have agreed to this. I should have insisted—" he says, filling the kettle.</p><p>Obi-Wan ignores the chair. "I said yes," he protests, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water.</p><p>"But—”</p><p>"I am not a child, Qui-Gon," he says, sharper than he meant to.</p><p>Qui-Gon flinches and looks away. "No. You're not." He pauses and puts the kettle on the stove.  “You're wounded."</p><p>Obi-Wan inhales and hugs his elbows. He shakes his head. "I should be stronger than this.” </p><p>Qui-Gon's face falls. "Obi-Wan, you are the strongest person I know."</p><p>Obi-Wan frowns. "You and Ahsoka and Anakin, you all served. You're not—” He waves his hand at himself. </p><p>"Oh Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says, voice low, “none of us went through what you did.”</p><p>"What are you talking about?" Obi-Wan asks. </p><p>Qui-Gon narrows his eyes and stares at him. A shadow passes over his face. When he speaks, his voice trembles.</p><p> "You don't remember do you?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Apologies for the short chapter. There will be more soon!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You don't remember do you?"</p>
<p>The world tilts on its axis and Obi-Wan fights to stay standing. His left hand catches the countertop and his right presses over his heart, trying to ease the flare of pain that is pushing all the air out of his lungs.</p>
<p>He has known all this time, some part of him <i>has</i> known, there was something <i>wrong</i> with him. </p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Violence and danger and death, years in the endless vice of war: these things have consequences for the soul. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>But there is a darkness he cannot explain that winds through his body and mind, out of the edge of his vision, like a spectre that vanishes in the light.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>And the chasm that pulls at him with fear and shame—he clawed his way out of it decades ago with Qui-Gon's help—and now it yawns and growls like a hungry beast, waiting for him, strengthened by some unknown power.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>And yet he has endured and ignored and put one foot in front of the other every day since he woke up on Coruscant. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Since he woke up.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He blinks. Horror rises inside him like a tide.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Why has he never asked why he was asleep?</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>His knees give out and Qui-Gon catches him with a shout.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Anakin bursts through the door. He can hear the twins wailing outside.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>"What's wrong?" Anakin barks, eyes fierce.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Qui-Gon sweeps Obi-Wan into his arms as he whirls to face Anakin.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>"Call the Temple. Tell them to send Vokara Che."</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>"Are you serious? There's no way the Council will approve that. They're barely able to —"</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>"They will," Qui-Gon growls. Obi-Wan can feel the vibration in his core. Qui-Gon's arms tighten around his shoulders and under his knees.
"They will, or my next conversation will be with Bail Organa himself about how <i>exactly<i> Chancellor Palpatine came to be murdered by a Sith Lord during the attack on the Jedi Temple."</i></i></i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>"You wouldn't. Qui-Gon, you can't!" Anakin shouts.</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>"Of course I can't!" Qui-Gon yells back. The world lurches as Qui-Gon hoists Obi-Wan higher in his arms. "But if they don't help him, I swear on every last Sith-damed holocron, I will burn the Temple to the ground myself."</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please note this chapter depicts past events - it's not Obi-Wan's flashback.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A year and a day ago</p><p> </p><p>Deep at the heart of the Jedi Temple, there is a room of alabaster and white marble with arching windows that look out onto a secret garden that catches light at dawn. It is an inner sanctum devoted to the Light. A vaulted ceiling of gold mosaic glitters in candle light. An ancient Bendu holocron sits on the small altar in the middle of the reflecting pool.</p><p>On a dais of marble before that pool, Obi-Wan Kenobi kneels in meditation and supplication, though to what he cannot say. The Force wanders and whispers but has no guidance for him.</p><p>Does it even care what happens to the mortals who serve it?</p><p>Obi-Wan cannot tell. </p><p>He can feel underneath the shining sanctum the remnants of the once proud Sith Temple. It is not only the defeated desecrated rock, but Darth Sidious’ rage pulsing. He feels it throbbing behind his eyes.</p><p>There is a secret chamber built of the Dark that Darth Bane used to imprison his apprentices. A Sith torture chamber built by Sith for Sith. And inside it, Darth Sidious howls. </p><p>He can hardly believe that Anakin’s plan to lure Palpatine to the catacombs beneath the Temple with the promise of the lost holocron of Darth Anddedu worked. </p><p>But the man’s— if he could still be called a man—greed and arrogance was unending. It would not be enough to destroy the Republic and the Jedi in his lifetime. He sought to rule over the galaxy for eternity. The holocron's reputed power of transferring one’s soul to another body could ensure him the eternal life he had searched for in vain with his master, Darth Plagueis. </p><p>Will it even work to kill Sidious, he wonders. Has he already uncovered some secret way to preserve his essence, as Qui-Gon had been working on with the Whills?</p><p>Even if it doesn’t, it will buy them time. </p><p>The holocron of Master Val Isa sits beside him. A vessel of Light to hold and contain the Dark. He will have to open it as he kills Palpatine.</p><p>Is there really such a thing as a sword of justice? Can he be that sword? It will be kinder, surely, to release Palpatine to death, than to keep him imprisoned for decades in pain.</p><p>He has never liked killing, but he has done it, ruthlessly when he needed to, and he has never strayed too far. Not even when he killed Maul to save Qui-Gon. </p><p>Will this be any different? Sidious threatens to kill everyone he has ever cared about, and to terrorize the galaxy besides.</p><p>But if it is so <i>right</i>, why does he feel so sick?</p><p>Qui-Gon is afraid. He can tell. </p><p>At that moment, his former master strides into the chamber.</p><p>“I don’t like this. There has to be another way," Qui-Gon says, piercing the silence with his conviction.</p><p>“Maybe. But we don’t have the time,” Obi-Wan says with a sigh as he rises. He turns to face Qui-Gon who stands, arms crossed across his chest, staring fiercely at the holocron in Obi-Wan's hand. “The Republic must believe the Chancellor was killed by Dooku if this is to work. There must be a body, with lightsaber wounds, or any sense of order will crumble around us and the Order will be destroyed by those Palpatine has already deceived." Obi-Wan pauses, stroking his beard. He shakes his head. "The fate of the galaxy hangs by a thread. Will Dooku play his part?”</p><p>Qui-Gon nods. "He will,” he says, voice low. “Sidious betrayed him, but more than that, Anakin’s mercy has reminded him that though Jedi may not be perfect, we have compassion enough to not destroy our own.” He grits his teeth and looks down. “I hope.”</p><p>“It is not the same," Obi-Wan says, wanting to offer some reassurance to both of their troubled spirits.</p><p>“Isn’t it?" Qui-Gon grimaces, and his hands find his hips. "Sidious sacrificed Maul and Dooku. Is what we are doing any different, sending you in there?”</p><p>Obi-Wan shakes his head and closes the space between them. He puts a hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder and meets his gaze. "Maul and Dooku had no choice. I walk in there willingly, to protect...” His throat tightens as he sees Qui-Gon's eyes soften and well with tears.</p><p>Qui-Gon is so close, he can feel the heat of his body and hear his breathing in the cold, quiet chamber. </p><p>“Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon's voice cracks as he brushes Obi-Wan's cheek with trembling fingers.</p><p>Obi-Wan closes his hand over Qui-Gon's and holds it to his face. Qui-Gon’s palm is rough from years of wielding a saber, but there is a tenderness in his touch that sends heat squirming through him.</p><p>"It will be enough, Qui-Gon," he whispers.</p><p>Qui-Gon chokes and closes his eyes. He tips his forehead to Obi-Wan's and presses them closer with a hand on the small of Obi-Wan's back. “I am afraid, Obi-Wan. I don’t want to lose you.”</p><p>“I don’t want to be lost.” Obi-Wan lays his palm against the side of Qui-Gon's face and then lifts his head to look the other man in the eyes. </p><p>“Obi-Wan. I— ” Qui-Gon's massive frame is shaking. He swallows. His blue eyes are full with an emotion they have both been told not to have or be moved by. </p><p>And yet, Obi-Wan cannot help his reply, nor what follows. He will need this if he is to survive what comes.</p><p>“I know," he breathes.</p><p>They sink into each other’s embrace, their faces drawing closer until their lips meet. Tentative and gentle, their kiss is reverent, honouring. Now is not the time for passion,  though it flickers beneath the surface, in their pounding hearts and eager hands. </p><p>Qui-Gon's lips are dry and he tastes like sapir and Corellian brandy and something sweet and familiar. Joy surges through Obi-Wan’s chest and spills through his limbs.</p><p>Obi-Wan longs to stay in this moment with Qui-Gon's strong arms around him and his lips against his. But his dark task beckons. In the end, he doesn’t have to muster the strength to step away. </p><p>"Obi-Wan." Anakin's voice echoes through the chamber. "It is time."</p><p>His padawan's face holds no reproach, only sadness and something like regret. Padme and Ahsoka stand behind him in the antechamber, somber and holding hands. Ahsoka's eyes are red.</p><p>They walk in silence, the five of them, down the grey stone steps to the lowest level of the Temple, through winding corridors until they reach the hidden door. Mace Windu and Yoda stand waiting. They exchange furrowed glances and Mace frowns.</p><p>"I asked them to be here," Obi-Wan says. </p><p>Mace sighs and nods. "You have the holocron?"</p><p>"I do."</p><p>The air is oppressive and thick, sour, like something rotting left in the sun. Rage and fear and hatred seethe from the cell. Obi-Wan can already hear Palpatine's taunting voice calling.</p><p>"Ready are you, Obi-Wan, to end this war?" Yoda asks.</p><p>Obi-Wan bows. "Almost."</p><p>He hugs Qui-Gon first, pressed cheek to cheek. Tears stream down Qui-Gon's face as he lets go of Obi-Wan's hand.</p><p>There is an ache in his heart now that he welcomes.</p><p>He turns to Anakin and embraces him tightly before kissing his forehead. "Take care of them," he whispers. "Love them. <i>Trust</i> them."</p><p>"I will, Master," Anakin promises.</p><p>Obi-Wan bows deeply to Ahsoka and hugs her fiercely.</p><p> "You're going to come back," she said defiantly.</p><p>"I will try," Obi-Wan says with a sad smile.</p><p>Padme wraps her arms around him. He can feel the two bright lights inside her, dancing and waiting. "Thank you, Obi-Wan," she says, clear and resonant in the dank corridor.</p><p>He meets her eyes. "May I?" he asks.</p><p>She nods. </p><p>He lays his hand on the swell of her belly. </p><p>“They will live in Light, Padme. They will have everything we did not,” he vows.</p><p>She breaks into tears and Anakin moves to her side.</p><p>Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and meets Qui-Gon's eyes one last time. </p><p>"I will see you soon," he promises.</p><p>And then he opens the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The room is white and clean, sterile, despite the foul air. On a low couch, Darth Sidious sits in robes of burgundy and red so deep they absorb light. His hands are bound in glowing cuffs and his eyes burn yellow-gold in the artificial light. </p><p>"Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the Sith Lord croons as he stands. “The Order's brightest and dullest star. I should thank you. If it hadn't been for your limpid leadership, Anakin would never have gotten this far."</p><p>"You still failed," Obi-Wan says. He stands steady, despite the tremble in his core.</p><p>"Did I?" Sidious asks, eyebrow arched. </p><p>Obi-Wan swallows. "The war is over. You lost."</p><p>Sidious cackles. "It will never be over, Kenobi. As long as the galaxy exists, there will be darkness.” He grins widely, showing perfect white teeth. “And the Sith will endure."</p><p>"Your words are empty,” Obi-Wan says. The corners of the holocron dig into his palm.</p><p>"It doesn't matter if you kill me. I <i>made</i> him and I will take him. Like I took his mother."</p><p>Obi-Wan’s eyes widen in horror, but he doesn’t waver. "It doesn’t matter. You don't have the power.”</p><p>"I don't need to.” Sidious leers. “It's planted inside him and it will <i>grow</i>."</p><p>Obi-Wan draws in a breath as the holocron in his hand begins to vibrate. A thought is coalescing behind his eyes as his mind’s eye shows him the image of a small blond boy holding a dark-haired woman’s hand in a field. </p><p>He cocks his head to one side. "How old were you?"</p><p>Palpatine blinks. "What?"</p><p>Obi-Wan presses on. "Who planted darkness in your heart? You were a child once. You played and smiled. Someone bore you. Someone loved you."</p><p>He sees the other man’s split-second flinch and a half-step backwards before Palpatine leans forward, raising his cuffed hands, fingers curled claw-like. "I am his father and I will have him! When you release my spirit, I will swallow his. You know I can,” he hisses.</p><p>"Was it your mother? your father? Your uncle? Who tilled the soil for Plagueis?" Obi-Wan asks. The ache in his chest expands. His eyes sting.</p><p>"No one!” Palpatine roars. “I chose my Master. I sought him out and drained him dry and then I killed him!"</p><p>"I don't believe you."</p><p>"I killed him!" </p><p>Obi-Wan shakes his head. "You serve him still."</p><p>Palpatine narrows his eyes. “You always hated Anakin. I can <i> feel</i> it. Your master rejected you, replaced you. And you hated Anakin for it. You were jealous. That's why you neglected him. That's why he came to me! The galaxy burned because of your hatred. You seek the Light because you know you are rotten. Qui-Gon knew. That's why he turned you away."</p><p>He should be hurt by Palpatine’s words. They are familiar barbs, ancient and not so ancient fears, but the volley of missiles falls short. There is a shield of Light around him. He squares his shoulders. "This war started thousands of years ago. You are one more tortured slave in a long line."</p><p>"Never! You are a fool Kenobi. When you strike me down, I will seep into your soul. You will never be free of me. And they will know. Anakin and Qui-Gon and your precious little Ahsoka. They will be disgusted by you. You will never be at peace. And you will wither alone in your pain and in your grief."</p><p>Obi-Wan can hear now, clear as ice crystals on Ilum, the echoes of Palpatine’s own experience in his threats. The ache in his heart becomes a searing pain and he is overcome with compassion for the tormented soul in front of him. He steps forward, closer and closer, until he is close enough to touch Palpatine. He pictures the child in his mind’s eye. Tears burn down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry,” he says softly.  “I am sorry the Jedi did not come for you. As imperfect as we are, we could have saved you from that fate.”</p><p>Palpatine blinks, frozen in surprise and confusion. For a second he looks very young. </p><p>Bile rises in Obi-Wan’s throat as he steps away and ignites his lightsaber. “But I cannot let you violate the galaxy as you were violated, nor turn Anakin as you were turned.”</p><p>“You fool! You can’t kill me. You will be killing a defenseless man. You will fall!”</p><p>“I have no hatred for you in my heart, Sheev. Only sorrow,” Obi-Wan says, and knows it is true.</p><p>Panic flashes through Palpatine’s eyes. “My spirit is eternal!” he sputters. “Imagine what I will be able to do when I am freed from this mortal body!”</p><p>Obi-Wan draws in a slow breath. He presses on the vibrating holocron and wills it open with the Force. “May the light take you, Sheev, and guide you home.”</p><p>Palpatine starts to laugh, a howling, wild sound. “The holocron is empty!” He cackles with twisted glee. “ You will have no choice but to kill me and fall!” He rises up to his full height. “You will be a mighty Sith, Kenobi! Imagine the devastation you will wreak upon the galaxy. You will be my revenge!”</p><p>Obi-Wan barely hears Sidious’ prophecy because he is staring down at the holocron in his hand in shock. It is indeed empty. Fear gnaws at his insides and then he sees it: an inscription, faint, following the winding geometric lines of the holocron. </p><p><i>Only a vessel of Light can heal the Dark.</i> </p><p>Heal. Not hold. </p><p><i>There will be no end to pain until someone heals it instead of passing it on,</i> the essence of Val Isa whispers. </p><p>And then awareness spills through him. The holocron is not the vessel. </p><p>He is.</p><p>He looks into Palpatine’s eyes and sees underneath all of the rage and hatred and lust for power, a small scared, hurt, sad child. </p><p>He knows then that when he releases Palpatine’s spirit, the painful legacy of the Sith will enter him, and the healing will be a rebirth through suffering—unfolding, enduring, shaken off, one dark petal at a time.</p><p>He will suffer and the galaxy will bloom.</p><p>A fragment of a conversation with Anakin years ago surfaces:</p><p><i> “And you, Master. What does your heart tell you you’re meant for?”</i><br/>
<i>“Infinite sadness.”</i><br/>
</p><p>Perhaps this has always been his destiny.</p><p>He thinks of Ahsoka, Padme, Anakin, the unborn twins, and Qui-Gon. </p><p>It will be a small price to pay to save those he loves. </p><p>He turns off his lightsaber and steps into Palpatine’s space, embracing him with one arm and pressing the cold hilt to Palpatine’s heart with his other. He looks into yellow eyes with as much kindness as he can muster. “Be at peace,” he whispers, and ignites the blade. </p><p>The pain is blinding, burning through his viscera.</p><p>Darkness crawls inside every crevice and howls.</p><p>Until he knows nothing more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Present day</p><p>Qui-Gon carries him through the winding corridors of the house. His grip on Obi-Wan is like iron and his chest is heaving, though not from exertion. Wallpaper and wood paneling swish by and then Obi-Wan is in his room and Qui-Gon is laying him on the bed and pulling his boots off. His teeth are chattering and there’s a squeezing in his stomach that has pushed all the air out of his lungs. </p><p>He’s so cold.</p><p>The light slants through the skylight, dizzyingly bright. He squints and swallows against rising nausea.</p><p>“Obi-Wan, are you with me?” Qui-Gon asks from where he kneels wide-eyed beside the bed. </p><p>He doesn’t know what Qui-Gon means, but he sees the frantic way Qui-Gon’s eyes are scanning his body. He tries to nod but his spine feels like a durasteel rod. </p><p>Something soft moves under his hand and he realizes Qui-Gon is holding his hand.</p><p>The pull downward into the dark has begun. He is being pressed down into the spinning chasm by a great force. He tries to resist it, but it gaps inside him.</p><p>He curls his fingers into Qui-Gon’s, the desperate motion of a man scrambling for purchase as the ground gives way beneath him.</p><p>It’s no use. He can’t stop himself from falling. The sunlight fades. The smell of wood fades. The solidity beneath him fades. The feel of Qui-Gon’s hand, the piercing blue eyes, they too fade.</p><p>There is nothing but grey shadow, whirling chaos, and an unbearable, endless ache. </p><p>***</p><p>He is underwater, looking up through the last foot of water, where sunlight streams through and the blue sky beyond shimmers. He pushes and pushes, kicking and reaching for the surface that recedes and recedes and recedes until he is left in the cold, watery shadows.</p><p>It is his fault. If he were stronger, he could escape. But he is weak and does not deserve to breathe without pain. It would be better to stop trying. </p><p>Fury consumes him. His skin is searing and crackling. Lightning pulses through him. He wants to tear everything apart: the room, the house, the forest, the planet, the galaxy, himself. </p><p>Most of all himself. </p><p>He cannot get away. Why can’t he get away? He pushes and yells and twists but always the dark comes. The dark comes with hate and despair and pain and punishment.</p><p>He will do anything, <i>anything</i> to end the agony that scalds and hammers him from the inside and out.</p><p> </p><p>He is underwater, sucking water that should be air. He has lost the right to air. He is not worthy. He should stop. He is angry. He wants to destroy. He wants to escape. He will give anything.</p><p>He has nothing to give, nothing to barter with, no power to exercise. </p><p>Did he ever?</p><p>The world has always been pain and a wish for it to be over.</p><p> </p><p>He is underwater. He can’t breathe. He burns. He will do anything.</p><p>Then he hears it, a low susurration, a hiss in the shadow. A familiar voice.<br/>
<i>Good, good, use your anger, use your hatred. You will destroy your weakness. You will surface. You will breathe. </i></p><p><i>No!</i> he cries.</p><p><i> Yesssss,</i> the voice beckons. <i>You will remake the world.</i></p><p>
  <i> It's wrong. I don't want that kind of power. I never have.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You lie. Of course you do. All men do. There is only power and weakness. You must choose.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>No! Stop!</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Never! You will fight and you will die, but your suffering will continue. There is no way out. Only through me will the pain stop.</i>

  <i>Give in to me and no one will ever hurt you again.</i>
</p><p>He is splintering apart, shattering, and he can feel each disconnected shard scream in agony that multiplies as it unfolds.</p><p>He cannot withstand this. He will do anything. </p><p>Anything.</p><p>He drinks in the water. He drinks in the fire.<br/>
Power surges in his chest.<br/>
He will unleash….</p><p>And then he hears a cry. High pitched and undulating.<br/>
And all at once, he has a point of reference in the endless dark. </p><p>He recognizes the sound and its maker. He feels pulled, drawn, not violently but a kind of yearning. The warmth in his chest is like a compass.</p><p>He recognizes this too. </p><p>Now he has coordinates in space. Now he can chart a course in his mind, even if he can't yet move. </p><p>He tries to push, tries to force himself forward. The pain flares and the darkness deepens.</p><p>He freezes and feels a low rumble like a vibration or the purr of a giant lothcat in his chest where the warmth is fading.</p><p>It soothes something inside him. Now he is able to let go. </p><p>He will drift toward the sounds. He has to wait. He has to <i>endure</i>, but he can. </p><p>The Light is waiting for him too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time he wakes, it is dark and he can hear the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of someone breathing. The grey glow through the windows is interrupted by the dark shape to his left. He is not afraid. He doesn’t know where he is, but he knows he has been travelling here for as long as he has been not-asleep and not-awake, and that he has been expected. Beside him, the figure shifts and sighs and he knows these sounds. He is drawn into sleep by the sound of Qui-Gon breathing, soft and strong like a familiar ocean tide. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second time he wakes, he is warm. There is sunlight on his skin and he can smell earth and water. He hears someone humming and pouring. There is a soft crunching sound. Despite the brightness, he flicks his eyes open to see Ahsoka tending a row of plants across from his bed. Her back is to him. She seems taller. He wants to call out, but sleep is dragging him under again. He curls his fingers against the bedsheets, as if to anchor himself long enough to see her face. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The third time he wakes it is to the sound of the children babbling and clapping. Padme and Anakin are singing a song about a gundark and his womprat friend. He draws in a breath. The breathing apparatus in his nose is strange so he opens his mouth instead. The air is sweet against his dry tongue. He can feel a knit blanket under his hands. </p>
<p>The twins have started to make an insistent noise. Heavy footfalls vibrate to his right. He rolls his head in time to see Qui-Gon stumble through the door as he unties a floral apron half-covered in flour. He drops the apron to the floor and strides across the room. He staggers when he reaches the bedside, catching himself on the edge of the bed. His eyes are wild and bright with tears. He brushes a flour-dusted thumb against Obi-Wan’s face and sinks to his knees with a cry. He takes Obi-Wan’s hands in his and brings them to his lips, curling forward to press his forehead against the coverlet. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s throat is tight and his eyes sting. There is an ache in his chest he remembers.</p>
<p>Qui-Gon’s hands are rough and his tears are hot against Obi-Wan’s skin. His broad shoulders are shaking. Anakin presses his hand between Qui-Gon’s shoulder blades with a low murmur. He has Leia tucked against his hip and he meets Obi-Wan’s gaze with a look that is serious and softer than Obi-Wan remembers. Leia coos and stretches out a chubby hand.</p>
<p>Padme places a hand on Anakin’s elbow. Her face is drawn, but there is a smile curling the edges of her lips. From her arms, Luke stares at him with creased brows. </p>
<p>Ahsoka appears in the doorway, boots muddy, poncho pebbled with raindrops. Her mouth falls open and she takes a step into the room. Padme whispers something and Ahsoka smiles at him with a solemn nod before the five of them slip away with a soft click of the door.</p>
<p>The room is quiet except for the near silent wisps of Qui-Gon weeping. Qui-Gon’s hair is greyer and he smells like lemon and cinnamon. </p>
<p>The ache in Obi-Wan’s chest is pulling him forward. He tries to blink away tears, but can only squeeze his eyes shut and wait for them to pass. He wants to move. He wants to speak. But his muscles are like lead. </p>
<p>He cannot do what he cannot do. </p>
<p>He takes a breath and lets the room come into focus. By the bank of windows, a pile of toys. The same plants across from his bed, taller now. Beside his bed on the left, a worn armchair, and a low cot. Qui-Gon’s robe is draped over one end. </p>
<p>Something warm flickers in his core.</p>
<p>Tightening his fingers over Qui-Gon’s is excruciating and relieving in equal measure.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He is sitting tucked into the corner of the teal couch as afternoon sunlight spills through the windows to his left. A slight chill wafts from the old panes, but the mug of tea in his hand is warm. He slides his fingers along the glossy rim as he brings it closer this face, inhaling the steam. </p>
<p>The house is quiet right now and that is a strange thing. The babies—toddlers—are rambunctious and talkative, though their speech is still more sounds and gestures than words. They are sleeping now, after shrill protests that could be heard even from his location at the far corner of the house. </p>
<p>Usually Qui-Gon would be cooking their evening meal, but there is leftover nuna stew from last night, so he has retired to his room. He said he was going to meditate, but Obi-Wan suspects he is napping as well. He still spends nights on the cot beside Obi-Wan’s bed, and it can hardly be comfortable for a man of his size. It’s been two? three? several weeks since he awoke and they haven’t discussed it. He should say something, but the truth is he cannot bear to think about being alone at night. Not yet. He still needs enough help at random and predictable intervals that it makes sense to have someone there. And while it could have easily been any one of them, Anakin, Ahsoka, Padme—they’re all strong enough to help him to the ‘fresher or to support him getting in and out of bed—he is relieved it is Qui-Gon who snores softly beside him. </p>
<p>Wielding a cane instead of a lightsaber is an indignity he never expected. Patience, for himself, it turns out, is one edge where he fights the Dark inside him. </p>
<p>His recovery is slow, slower than he could have imagined, if he had been able to. Five weeks he was unconscious. Vokara Che did visit, as did Yoda, despite the depleted Order’s stretched resources. Qui-Gon tells him they had little insight or help to offer, though there was much hand-wringing and many healing meditations. The nature of his injury eludes them. If only he could say more about what happened, but has only a vague impression of his encounter with Darth Sidious: a flash of a hauntingly sterile room, the blue glow of his lightsaber reflecting off white walls, Sidious' robes turning purple. He knows that he killed Sidious and that something happened to him when the Sith Lord’s spirit was released into the Force. </p>
<p>His coma then had lasted for four months, two of which Qui-Gon had slept beside him. When Padme gave birth, Anakin had called just as Vokara Che was preparing to exile Qui-Gon from the Halls of Healing with a written edict from the Council itself.</p>
<p>He has no memory at all of his time asleep, and for that he is profoundly grateful. Some battles bring nothing but pain, in their experience and remembrance.</p>
<p>He knows what he needs to know. For now.</p>
<p>Fear and despair and jealousy and anger. Dread, hopelessness, and hate. Shame. These things live inside him and tear his insides and compress his bones. He has a strange sense that they do not belong to him, not entirely. But he will feel them nonetheless. </p>
<p>Perhaps it is the will of the Force, perhaps not. He can't tell. He no longer feels the Force—hasn't, he now realizes, since he woke up the first time. It’s not that he has been cut off, <i> that </i> he can tell. Nor is it a matter of wanting or not wanting. He <i>could</i> feel the Force, he simply doesn't.</p>
<p>He is not ready.</p>
<p>On good days, the pain fades into the background, and he can forget as he watches Ahsoka read to Luke and Leia, or Anakin try to show them how to make snow angels while Padme blushes as he tells them of the first words he ever spoke to their mother. </p>
<p>On bad days, he alternates between freezing and burning, fighting a fever that's crept inside his soul and twisted the whole world.</p>
<p>On those days, it is only Qui-Gon's presence he can bear, from across his shadowed room.</p>
<p>There are drugs to keep him calm and drugs to wake him up. Obi-Wan doesn't know their names, but Qui-Gon does. He keeps a chart pinned inside the mirrored refresher cabinet. Obi-Wan doesn't like any of them, but he understands that some battles bring nothing but pain.<br/>
</p><p>Softness, Qui-Gon tells him, is the only way through. Softness makes the Dark howl some days, and other days it settles it down like an infant finding its thumb.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan turns toward the Light like a plant, cell by cell, inch by inch, with water and earth and time.</p>
<p>He sips the fragrant tea at last and looks out the window.  Streaks of clouds scatter across a slate grey sky, while wind shakes the barren branches of the treeline. Today the gusts whistle and murmur and sigh, and the sun sinks below the horizon with a pale glow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Up,” Qui-Gon says with a firm nod, holding out his hand. </p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. His mind is not opposed to the walk that Qui-Gon has been trying to get him to go on for the last few hours, days really, if he considers that he hasn’t left the house in nearly a week. And yet, his body sits limp and heavy and vaguely sore on the corner of the couch he has been slowly burrowing into week after week.</p><p>The weight of exhaustion and malaise presses on his face and chest. He closes his eyes and begins to shake his head.</p><p>Qui-Gon inhales audibly and sucks his teeth. Obi-Wan doesn’t need the Force to feel the straining of his patience. After a deep, rumbling exhale, he kneels down so he can look Obi-Wan in the eyes. When Obi-Wan tries to look away, Qui-Gon catches his chin between stern fingers. Obi-Wan blinks but doesn’t turn away.</p><p>He takes in Qui-Gon’s familiar brow, his long braided hair, the sharp planes of his cheeks, his aquiline nose, silvering beard. Qui-Gon’s eyes are azure in the afternoon light. At first, they appear to be the same kind and steady eyes he has looked into for decades, but he starts to notice the tight set of his jaw, the new creases on his brow, the way his eyes are a little too wide, his breath a little too fast, and then he sees it: a wild thread of fear flickering Qui-Gon’s eyes.</p><p>“I know you don’t want to. But I am not giving you a choice, <i>padawan</i>,” Qui-Gon says, the tremor in his voice would be hidden to all but those who know him well.</p><p>Obi-Wan can hear it.</p><p>Qui-Gon is scared <i>for him</i>. This revelation stirs something inside him. He squeezes his eyes shut and shifts on the cushions, twisting his legs forward so his feet find the ground. He inhales from the pain and Qui-Gon takes his hands so he can brace himself against something to pull himself up. </p><p>Several excruciating minutes later, he is donning a puffy winter parka borrowed from Ahsoka and leaning heavily against the wall to pull on his boots. After he tugs on a hat and gloves, Qui-Gon offers him his cane and he grimaces. </p><p>“How icy is it?” he asks.</p><p>“Not very. The sun and salt have taken care of most of it,” Qui-Gon says. He looks more at ease now, despite the fact that he’s been wearing Anakin’s bright orange parka indoors for at least the last ten minutes while waiting for Obi-Wan. He considers Obi-Wan with a tilt of his head and then puts the cane against the wall and offers Obi-Wan his gloved hand instead.</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks and huffs, something like relief fluttering in his chest. He takes Qui-Gon’s hand and watches the other man’s lips quirk into a half-smile. </p><p>Outside, the air is crisp, and the salt and broken ice crunch under his boots. Small birds chatter and sing from the bushes near the house. Snow has covered most of the field and sits brightly on bare and needle-covered tree limbs. Qui-Gon’s hand around his is firm and gentle as they walk towards the lake, a brilliant glinting gold in the sunlight. </p><p>There is something precious that he had forgotten about the heat of the sun, the brush of wind, the rustle and chirp of wildlife and the great expanse of sky.</p><p>He stills. Qui-Gon stops and turns to face him. </p><p>“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says hoarsely, his throat inexplicably tight.</p><p>Qui-Gon squeezes his hand and smiles. Relief has softened his eyes and Obi-Wan feels a rush of warmth. He looks down at their joined hands.</p><p>There have been so many strange intimacies over the past few months, born out of necessity and fraught with a muted awkwardness. No one else was going to help Obi-Wan shower, or get dressed, nor trim his hair or help him shave. But Qui-Gon’s hand in his is the strangest of them all. They have never <i>held hands</i>. Clutching hands when one of them was injured or on a medical bed is worlds away from this winter stroll. Whatever pretence brought them here, there is nothing clinical or practical about the affection in Qui-Gon’s touch.</p><p>He squeezes Qui-Gon’s hand back, and then slides his hand free and slips his glove off and reaches for Qui-Gon’s hand once more. Qui-Gon’s brows furrow for a moment, before he does the same. </p><p>They both look away as they join hands. Qui-Gon’s palm is smooth and warm against his. He can feel the soft hairs on the back of his hand. He swallows as an unexpected heat uncurls in his belly. </p><p>Somewhere between the path and the dock, their fingers entwine.</p><p>Obi-Wan’s heart jumps. Qui-Gon inhales sharply. They stare out at the golden lake in silence, but Obi-Wan can hear blood pounding in his ears. He doesn’t know what’s happening but he’s not afraid. There’s something familiar here, and he feels more alive than he has in weeks.</p><p>He looks up at Qui-Gon who has gone very still. Qui-Gon wipes moisture from his closed eyes and swallows.</p><p>“Would you like to see the voorpak burrow?” he says, voice rough, eyes still shut.</p><p>“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, though he can’t for the life of him remember what one looks like. </p><p>Nearly an hour later, when they return to the house, snow dusted and red cheeked, they have replaced their gloves and Obi-Wan is looking forward to spring.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Winter in the Lake district on Naboo is colder and snowier than in the southern capital of Theed. The elevation is higher and snow capped mountains loom beyond the forested lowlands where the Naberrie cottage is nestled. Though the days keep getting longer, the winter cold persists.</p><p>A week has passed since Qui-Gon showed Obi-Wan the voorpak burrow. They have been out nearly every day since, and Obi-Wan has left his cane behind each time. He is grateful he only needs it for balance and even then less and less. </p><p>Today they have circled the lake, with its muddy grey surface and frozen reeds poking out from the ice. Qui-Gon tells him he can sense the fish sleeping in their sandy beds waiting for the thaw. </p><p>“Like me,” Obi-Wan responds with a twinge in his chest. </p><p>Qui-Gon’s breath catches and he tilts his head, brows furrowed. “Are you?”</p><p>“Am I?” </p><p>“Sleeping?”</p><p>“Waiting,” Obi-Wan says with a sigh. He leans more heavily on the young tree he is holding like a staff and looks over the lake to the dim shapes of mountain peaks in the distance. The sky is white and the sun a glowing orb behind a veil of clouds.</p><p>“For what?” Qui-Gon asks with a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>He inhales and shakes his head. “I don’t know.“ He pauses and looks at Qui-Gon. The other man’s nose and cheeks are red from the cold and there are tiny ice crystals glinting in his beard. His gaze holds the same near-permanent soft expression of concern that Obi-Wan has seen every day since Qui-Gon arrived in the Halls of Healing to take him to Naboo nearly a year ago now. </p><p>“What about you?” Obi-Wan asks. </p><p>Qui-Gon blinks, head jerking back slightly. “Me?”</p><p>Obi-Wan nods. “You aren’t a sleeping fish. Are you a voorpak, huddled in its burrow? Or a peko-peko bird?”</p><p>Qui-Gon’s eyebrows rise. He looks puzzled, as if he almost doesn’t understand the question. “I don’t know. No one has asked me…” His voice drifts off. </p><p>Obi-Wan waits, trying not to think about how long it might be since he had the presence of mind to ask Qui-Gon how <i>he</i> was doing. </p><p>Qui-Gon hmms, a low rumble that has Obi-Wan wanting to press himself against Qui-Gon and curl up in the vibration. </p><p>“I suppose some days I feel like a mother tooka cat, hovering and watching,” Qui-Gon says. He sounds unconvinced. </p><p>“And cooking,” Obi-Wan adds. </p><p>Qui-Gon snorts and crosses arms across his chest with a tilt of his head. “And cooking. And changing diapers. And playing. And teaching push feather.”</p><p>Alarm bolts through Obi-Wan like an electric shock. “Push feather? So soon?” He grips the tree trunk tighter and inhales against the wave of <i> pain-fear-sadness </i> that ripples through him.</p><p>Qui-Gon’s look of concern is back in an instant and Obi-Wan hates it. He shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he lies. “<i>Tell me</i>.”</p><p>Qui-Gon narrows his eyes, but doesn’t challenge him. “We only started in the last few weeks. And it’s very early.” He doesn’t need to say a consolatory ‘you haven’t missed much.’ Obi-Wan can hear it loud and clear.</p><p>In his mind’s eye, he can see Qui-Gon sitting with Luke and Leia in their play area in the living room, feathers floating in front of them as they scrunch their faces in concentration. He should be there, but even the thought brings on a kind of roiling nausea and the intense pressure on his face that he has started to recognize as the beginning of panic.</p><p>“There is lots of time, Obi-Wan. You will be,” Qui-Gon assures him softly, and Obi-Wan realizes he had spoken aloud. </p><p>Another thought is awakening inside him and he feels the chasm wake and start to howl as his fear begins to spiral. He squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth and breathes in and out as evenly as he can. He wants to know, whatever the answer, he wants to know.</p><p>He needs to know. </p><p>Qui-Gon has taken his hand, slipped off their gloves despite the cold and intertwined their fingers. The heat of his skin is grounding and a point of focus as he feels himself begin to float.</p><p>“Shhhhhh” Qui-Gon breathes, not as deep as his “hmmm”, but a vibration nonetheless. This time, Obi-Wan steps forward, slides his free arm around Qui-Gon’s waist and presses his face to Qui-Gon’s chest. The fabric of the parka is cold and smooth and stiff and he wishes he could sink beneath it to press them skin to skin. The thought should disturb him, but he doesn’t have the energy to dispute this longing. Qui-Gon wraps his other arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and brushes the hair at the nape of his neck with his thumb. </p><p>Something settles inside him long enough for him to grind out, “Does the Council know?” </p><p>Every line of Qui-Gon’s body goes rigid. He inhales sharply and exhales so low it's almost a growl. “No.”</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much to DarkisRising for her encouragement and sharp eyes on this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The nursery is in the south west corner of the house on the second floor, next to Padme and Anakin’s bedroom. Padme’s parents renovated it early on, so the wallpaper and carpet and fixtures are all new. A plush yellow carpet covers most of the floor, with the cribs on one side and a play area and set of armchairs on the other. The room is bright and cheerfully coloured. Obi-Wan has spent only a little time here in the last few months. Sometimes he helps with bedtime if one of the twins is especially fussy, or watches the twins play with their mountain of toys. Everything in the room is so different from the creche dormitories, he almost doesn’t know how to process it. Smiling cartoon animals and plastic dolls feel out of place, though he knows he is the one out of place. Even now, almost a year on Naboo, he feels like something of an intruder in Anakin and Padme’s domestic scene. </p><p>Qui-Gon sits cross legged on the floor beside the twins, who are each floating a single white feather. Leia’s feather floats a bit higher, and she is quicker to respond when Qui-Gon pushes it closer to her. She has a fierce look on her face. Luke’s expression is thoughtful. He takes his time, watching to see what Qui-Gon is doing before he shifts his feather in turn.</p><p>Obi-Wan sits in one of the armchairs beside Padme’s mother, Jobal. Ahsoka is visiting her friends Trace and Rafa on Coruscant, and Jobal and Ruwee have come for a few weeks to visit and help with the babies. Jobal's dark eyes are wide in wonder as she watches the twins. </p><p>There is a twisting pang in Obi-Wan’s heart as he watches Luke and Leia with Qui-Gon. He wishes he could be on the floor with them, but he still does not touch the Force. Every time he thinks about it, the Dark inside him begins to howl. He does not trust himself to connect, and though that is its own pain, he finds it infinitely preferable to the alternative.</p><p>Qui-Gon is wearing his Jedi tunics today, has been for the past few weeks. Obi-Wan suspects it has as much to do with teaching the twins as it does with cold. Whatever the reason, he finds it comforting. A little piece of normal in this strange world. He can almost pretend they are on an extended mission from the Temple, and the galaxy isn’t in ruins, and he isn’t a shadow of himself, threaded with the Dark’s legacy of pain. </p><p>Seeing Qui-Gon teaching the twins, he feels another kind of ache, sweet in its sharpness, like the relief from massaging a sore muscle. Qui-Gon is so big and they are so little. And despite his immense strength, he is exquisitely gentle. This doesn’t surprise Obi-Wan, but it does move him. </p><p>Qui-Gon is explaining the twins’ progress to Jobal, who is humming in understanding and curiosity. They are already quite advanced for their age, and though there has been no midichlorian count so far, Qui-Gon has described their Force-presences as glaring, like sunbeams glinting on water. It is not surprising, given Anakin’s force sensitivity.  </p><p>Jobal takes in all of this information with an air more of concern than pride. When Qui-Gon pauses his explanation, she asks the question that has been haunting the house for weeks now.</p><p>"Will the Temple come for them? As they came for Anakin?” Her voice is a loud whisper, as if she doesn’t want Luke and Leia to hear.</p><p>She doesn't know, of course, that the Temple never came for Anakin. Or that it was Qui-Gon who did.</p><p>Qui-Gon frowns and runs a hand over his mouth. He exhales with a low hum and shakes his head. "Over my dead body,” he says with a scowl. </p><p>Later that evening, at a long dinner that feels more like a briefing and a strategy session, Obi-Wan learns that the Council is dispatching two masters to Naboo in the next week. </p><p>There is some concern that the Council will access some leverage or precedent or otherwise try to take the twins to the Temple. There is much speculation as to which masters will be sent and effective tactics for each.</p><p>He understands the alarm that thrums around the table, but he must resist it, for their sake as much as his own. Fear and anger bring searing pain to his still mending body.</p><p>He takes a deep breath and looks out the foggy windows at the sunset, shivering at the purple-blue cast of the snow.  Anakin and Padme will not consent, so the twins cannot be taken. The matter should end there. Obi-Wan has said as much. But Qui-Gon has seen more of the Order and the Council than anyone else present, by decades, and he is preparing for a fight. </p><p>Anakin has been strangely steady though the whole discussion and now he puts hand heavily on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. </p><p>Some of the nervous energy in Qui-Gon’s presence settles, but his eyes are still a little wild and his normally graceful movements are sharp from tension as he refills his glass.</p><p>“How do you know?” Ruwee asks his son-in-law.</p><p>“I just do.” Anakin says, with a comforting gravity. He pauses. “We’re here together. We’ve faced worse.” </p><p>Obi-Wan’s breath catches from the intensity of the look Anakin gives him. Obi-Wan doesn’t know if he’s underreacting or Qui-Gon is overreacting, but he is proud of Anakin. A calmness ripples gently through him. Anakin is right. He nods.</p><p>“And,” Anakin adds with a smirk, “Worse comes to worse, we’ll call Bail Organa.” </p><p>Padme barks out a laugh. “I’ll drink to that,” she says, lifting her glass and swallows the last of her wine as she leans back in her chair. </p><p>The spell of worry has broken, and the conversation finally shifts to the latest updates from Ahsoka. The mechanic workers union that Trace helped to start  is gaining traction and beginning talks with the Ministry of Labour. Ahsoka is planning to stay to help with the negotiations. Padme is keen to support her with information about the relevant senators’ biases. She misses being part of the action in a way that Obi-Wan cannot fathom.</p><p>Eventually the din of voices gets to be too much for him and he retires to his room after a swift goodnight. </p><p>He turns up the heat in his room and gets into bed after his evening refresher routine, but the evening has left him too wired for sleep. He reads his new holobook on meditation for non-Force users instead and waits for Qui-Gon, whose cot is still set up next to his bed, despite the fact that he hasn’t needed assistance at night for at least a week.</p><p>He’s made it through a chapter and a half and sleep is starting to beckon when Qui-Gon comes in. He’s a little drunk. Obi-Wan can tell from his inattention, his slowed movements and the unusual amount of clatter in the refresher.</p><p>“Did I wake you?” Qui-Gon asks, concerned, when he registers that Obi-Wan is up.</p><p>Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I was reading.”</p><p>Qui-Gon gives a relieved huff. “Good.” He takes a minute to draw the curtains closed and checks the thermostat. “It’s cold tonight,” he says with a shiver. He rubs his hands over the sleeves of his loose sleep shirt. </p><p>Obi-Wan hmms in agreement. As he watches Qui-Gon move towards his cot, he is struck by an intense feeling of dislike, like he’s just bitten into a rotten apple. He wants something different. He’s been waiting for something different.</p><p>He reaches over to the far side of the bed and flips back the bedcovers.</p><p>Qui-Gon freezes. For a moment, he merely stares at the open stretch of mattress and the pillow Obi-Wan has left for him. He swallows audibly and draws in a long breath. Glancing down at the cot, he steps around it and places one knee on the bed. </p><p>Obi-Wan can see Qui-Gon's pulse hammering in the hollow between his collarbones. As he leans forward, the angled opening of Qui-Gon's shirt gapes, revealing silvering hair and the shadow of a nipple. </p><p>Obi-Wan shifts over further, runs a hand through his long bangs and absurdly smooths his shirt, as if he's getting ready for a diplomatic meeting. He can feel his own pulse hammering and it feels alive. He swallows and nods.</p><p>Qui-Gon's gaze is piercing as he moves into the bed at a glacial pace, every second slowed down to give Obi-Wan the chance to change his mind.</p><p>Obi-Wan slides down to rest his head on the pillow and turns away to place his holobook on the nightstand.</p><p>He feels the mattress dip under Qui-Gon's weight and hears the rustle of fabric as he arranges the sheets. The bed is more than large enough for two people and there’s at least a foot between them, but Obi-Wan can feel Qui-Gon’s body heat radiating in the cool sheets and the relief lets his breath drop further in his chest. </p><p>When Obi-Wan turns backs around, Qui-Gon is laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, long limbs rigid at his sides. </p><p>“We’ve done this before,” Qui-Gon says, voice strained. He’s trying to convince himself of something.</p><p>“Yes. Lots of times,” Obi-Wan answers. He curls onto his side and in the process inches closer to Qui-Gon.</p><p>Qui-Gon inhales and exhales. His hands find the edges of the covers on his chest. He swallows. “This time there is no need.”</p><p><i>Isn’t there?</i> Obi-Wan wants to say. But he doesn’t. Instead he hmms and yawns and sinks further into the mattress. </p><p>“This is <i>different</i>,” Qui-Gon says, and Obi-Wan can hear him struggling to find his peace with where he wants to be. </p><p>Obi-Wan knows that conflict. He fights it nearly every day, and every day he inches closer and closer to the difficult reality that he is human and needs human things like touch and rest and another person’s smile.</p><p>A certain person’s smile, if he is very honest with himself.</p><p>The Dark tells him he is unworthy of these things, that they are dangerous and wrong. How strange to realize the alignment of that pain’s message with what the Order handed down to them. He wants to know what Qui-Gon thinks of that, because Qui-Gon has been fighting against it all his life. It’s why he’s been steadily unraveling since the Council’s message, and perhaps why Anakin is not.</p><p>He lays his head on Qui-Gon’s shoulder, and Qui-Gon slips his arm around him and pulls him against his side. His fingers tremble where they grip Obi-Wan’s side through his sleep shirt. </p><p>“It is different,” Obi-Wan says, pressing the length of his body against Qui-Gon’s. He lays his palm over Qui-Gon’s heart, willing the frantic beating to slow. “This time you’re afraid,” he whispers to the underside of Qui-Gon’s jaw before he rests his forehead against the soft bristled edge. </p><p>Qui-Gon lets out a choked gasp and squeezes Obi-Wan closer to him. His other hand comes up to brush Obi-Wan’s cheek. </p><p>“I—,” he starts, but his voice gives way to a sob.</p><p>“Shhhh,” Obi-Wan murmurs and then slides out from under Qui-Gon’s arm and tips Qui-Gon onto his side with a gentle push. He presses his lips to Qui-Gon’s shaking shoulder blade and shifts his hips so he can match the curl of Qui-Gon’s body. Tears sting his own eyes and he feels the sweet-sharp ache in his chest. He strokes the fine hair at Qui-Gon’s temples as Qui-Gon cries.</p><p>He slips his arm under Qui-Gon’s and hugs him tighter, palm pressed against Qui-Gon’s heart once more. Qui-Gon lays his hand over Obi-Wan’s and curls his fingers over Obi-Wan’s. He shudders, and Obi-Wan holds him, breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. </p><p>The room is otherwise silent, the moonlight illuminating the edges of the curtains in the dark.</p><p>They fall asleep, fingers and breath entwined in the warmth of each others’ bodies.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much to you my enthusiastic readers and to DarkisRising for her keen eyes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A short time after dawn, he wakes to soft, warm sheets that carry a sweet-musky smell that he would recognize anywhere in the galaxy. How strange to be enveloped in it. He blinks sleep from his eyes and sees he has moved into the hollow where Qui-Gon had been sleeping, clutching his abandoned pillow as he slept. </p><p>Obi-Wan looks out across the sizeable bedroom he has begun to think of as his. On the far side, Qui-Gon is sitting upright in meditation in front of the bank of windows. He has opened the curtains and the beginnings of daylight spill onto his face, which is pale but not as drawn or sharp as yesterday. The steady rise and fall of his bare chest settles a clamoring within Obi-Wan that has been building since before he opened his eyes. There is something about the night and the quiet that makes last night’s kind of closeness possible in a way that daylight does not. The prohibitions that live in his veins can constrict him once more. Or they can try. Because as he takes in the familiar sight of Qui-Gon meditating, unchanged over decades except for the grey in his hair and the lines on his brow, he can see one thing clearly. </p><p>Everything is, in fact, okay. </p><p>Their <i>indulgent</i> intimacy has not broken or ruined anything. He furrows his brows at the thought. He hadn’t been conflicted or afraid last night. He shakes his head and drinks in Qui-Gon’s ease this morning until he can find his own feet and put them on the floor. </p><p>He settles beside Qui-Gon with a pillow, assuming a pose he has avoided for months now. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, though he does not sink into the Force as he once did. Instead he waits for his mind to still. It is hard. His thoughts flit here and there. He wonders what time it is. He wonders about Luke’s new tooth and Leia’s lost shoe. He wonders about Anakin’s droid renovation. He wonders about Ahsoka and her friends. He wonders about Padme and her parents and what they must think of their odd little community finding refuge from the aftermath of the war and the precepts of the Jedi Temple. He wonders when the Temple became a place to find refuge from. He wonders about the burrow of voorpacks and the little green tips poking through the earth, still beset by snow. </p><p>When Qui-Gon takes his hand, the clamouring voices of many generations of Jedi masters and their ancient texts chatter in his head, warning him against attachment in tones ranging from disapproving to shrill.</p><p>“Just be here, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says, his voice resonant in the quiet room.“Feel the cushion underneath you. Feel the sunlight. Feel my hand in yours. Breathe.”</p><p>He tries. The sun is warm. The cushion is soft. Qui-Gon’s hand is dry and smooth. The focus helps for a moment, but the chatter in his head grows louder and the voices meaner and darker. No longer the host of Jedi, but echoes of the Sith.</p><p>He grips Qui-Gon’s hand tighter and listens to Qui-Gon’s breath. He follows the rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall and lets his own breath rise and fall in time. He waits and observes the chaos brewing in his mind until he cannot bear it any longer. </p><p>Heart hammering, blood pounding in his ears, he lets go of Qui-Gon’s hand, pushes his fingers against the rough carpet and opens his eyes. A peko-peko chick has landed on the windowsill in front of him. Its grey-blue down flutters in wind as it looks inside with an inquisitive turn of its head and cheeps. </p><p>The sound is so high pitched and so demanding, Obi-Wan makes a sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh.</p><p>“Hello my little friend." Obi-Wan can hear the smile in Qui-Gon's rumbling baritone. </p><p>“That’s enough for today,” Qui-Gon says with a nod. He stands in one fluid motion and offers his hand. “Come.”</p><p>Obi-Wan takes his hand and stands stiffly. He dislikes how much relief he feels at leaving meditation behind, but he sees kindness in Qui-Gon’s eyes and his own criticism starts to melt. He can let it today.</p><p>Qui-Gon reaches into the nearby desk drawer and pulls out a small bag. Cold air, more invigorating than bracing, wafts into the sun-warmed bedroom when he opens the door leading to the field behind the house and the forest beyond. He pours a handful of seeds into Obi-Wan’s palm. </p><p>“Why don’t you do the honours?” he says, gesturing to the little bird hopping in front of the door, now joined by two friends. </p><p>The chirping grows more frantic as Obi-Wan approaches. He casts the spray of seeds out into the snow.  There’s a sudden flutter and then the chicks have multiplied. A flurry of blue and grey and red and brown and gold, they hop and peck and scatter out to seek their tiny treasures. </p><p>“How long have you been feeding them?” Obi-Wan asks.</p><p>Qui-Gon puts a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder with a smile. “Long enough.”  </p><p>***</p><p>To the relief of everyone in the house, the Masters’ visit gets delayed and then converted into a holoconference. Civil unrest has broken out on Coruscant and the Order is spread thin mediating between workers’ unions and corporate interests. There are no masters to spare to send to Naboo for a set of twins, no matter how strong in the Force their father is. </p><p>Anakin and Padme meet with Oppo Rancisis and Eeth Koth in the study beside the nursery. Obi-Wan is with Qui-Gon, watching Luke and Leia play an indiscernible game with their stuffed Wookie dolls, when he hears Anakin through the wall politely telling the two Jedi to go fuck themselves. </p><p>Qui-Gon’s eyebrow leap and then he smirks. </p><p>“He’s your grandpadawan all right,” Obi-Wan huffs, as Leia tries to push her Wookie into his face. </p><p>They learn later that the masters had tried to tell Anakin and Padme that they would be putting their children at risk if they were not trained, as if three fully trained Jedi and one former senior padawan were not living in the same house.</p><p>The next day Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both receive communications reminding them that they are not allowed to teach Jedi arts to beings outside the Order. </p><p>Qui-Gon rolls his eyes and laughs, but there’s an edge to his voice that Obi-Wan doesn’t miss. The time is coming when Qui-Gon will walk away. He can feel it in the warming air and the bright sky of the lengthening days and the green shoots reaching up through the earth beside the house where Qui-Gon had planted bulbs in the fall.</p><p>Obi-Wan is examining the first crocuses blooming by the lake when Qui-Gon asks him if he is planning to stay in the Order.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says honestly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey parka as he stands. The remnants of snow crunch under his boots. There is a slight breeze and the sun is strong today. He turns to look at mountains in the distance. </p><p>“I have been living in the moment,” he adds. “I have no sense of the future.” He swallows around the tightness in his throat. “And you?” he asks.</p><p>Qui-Gon exhales with a low rumble. “They need a teacher. Ironic that I cannot teach them if I stay a Jedi.”</p><p>There is something <i>wrong</i> about Qui-Gon’s words. Obi-Wan turns sharply to face him, gaze fierce. “You will always be a Jedi. Order or no Order.”</p><p>Qui-Gon’s eyes are a brilliant blue against the sky. He holds Obi-Wan’s gaze for a moment and then sighs and looks down. “Does it matter any more?” He holds out his hand. Obi-Wan takes it instinctively. </p><p>Qui-Gon’s mouth quirks into a half smile, but his eyes are sad. He squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand. “It’s just a name, Obi-Wan. We can find new names.”</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks again to DarkisRising for her enthusiasm and eyes!</p><p>And thank so much to you my amazing readers. I know I'm behind on replying to comments, but please know that I cherish and am energized by every one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sky is purple and pink behind the trees and the wind whips past him, fluttering the material of his parka with a loud rustle. It has been weeks now without snow and the earth sits dry and drained of colour beneath his boots. </p><p>Dusk wakes something inside him. The fading light, the sky turning to indigo behind him, the moon peeking out from behind a shroud of cloud. </p><p>Obi-Wan has taken to greeting the different trees with palms pressed to their variable barks. The circle of towering pines brings him particular comfort—high branches leaning down with their protection from sun and wind and rain. He sits beneath them sometimes, drinking in the bracing scent and listening to the wind and the birds.</p><p>Sometimes Qui-Gon reminds him of a towering pine. And the other way around. There’s a sturdiness born of time and persistence. </p><p>He has been sheltering in his arms night after night, and doing some sheltering of his own, as wobbly as his own branches might be. </p><p>It's through contact with Qui-Gon’s body that he gets to know his own again. He is beginning to have arms and legs, a chest, shoulders, a front and a back, palms and soles of his feet. A stomach that flips when he watches Qui-Gon climb into bed, his long body graceful and at ease now when he pulls Obi-Wan against him and kisses the top of his head. </p><p>If Qui-Gon is a pine, he is an oak, young enough to waver in the wind, and deceptively bare. But it’s early spring and he cannot control the season.</p><p>He presses his naked palm to the rough bark of his favourite pine, and looks out at the lake, mirroring the streaks of colour in the sky. He takes a deep breath of cold air that no longer bears the tang of winter.</p><p>The world is waking up and so is he. </p><p>There is a deeper yearning waking inside him, more like something forgotten than something new, but it feels like a revelation all the same. </p><p>Coming back into his body brings with it confusing sensations. He wants to kiss Qui-Gon, but not in the chaste, quiet way they do sometimes. It makes his heart pound and his groin throb and it hasn’t done <i>that</i> in so long he can’t even think of the last time he touched himself.</p><p>He wonders what Qui-Gon feels and senses around him. Sometimes there is a hitch of Qui-Gon’s breath or sharpness in his eye that suggests something more. If Obi-Wan were connected with the Force he might be able to tell, and there are moments that the desire to know is strong enough that he considers reaching for it. But he knows he’s not ready, and he knows that wanting something means nothing in and of itself. </p><p>Owning things. Wanting things. These don't come easy to him, or to Qui-Gon. They were conditioned to endure and to be self-sufficient and use their minds and the Force to step away from the need for comfort.</p><p>Having things now—not just physical things, but emotional things: the children’s laughter, Anakin’s smile, Qui-Gon’s hand in his and his chest under his ear—is shifting something deep and strange inside Obi-Wan. He’s felt it before, but it’s stronger now.  He wonders if Qui-Gon feels it too. A sense of something like recognition and loss at the same time, out of the corner of his eye. He can’t look right at it: it just disappears. </p><p>But there is a reckoning brewing inside him like a storm. He can feel it like he can feel rain coming in the way the wind whips at the trees and the air tastes damp. </p><p>He hears Qui-Gon call him from the kitchen door and turns to see the tall man in his floral apron, back-lit by a bright gold. Qui-Gon waits and watches him as he walks up the path into the wafting warmth and savory aroma. </p><p>There is a look on Qui-Gon’s face, soft and wistful, that settles the turmoil inside him. He welcomes the frisson of joy that it elicits. He knows this joy and though some part of him whispers the same ancient disapproval he’s known since he was a teenager, he lets it swell his heart nonetheless. </p><p>“Hello there,” he says, smiling as he meets Qui-Gon’s eyes.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks again to DarkisRising, not only for her comments, but also for permission to use her anecdote about her knitting teacher's advice about gifting her first scarf.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The green yarn is mottled with yellow and white speckles and soft to the touch. It reminds him of the rinta plants Qui-Gon used to keep eons ago when they lived in the Temple. </p><p>The return of the sun seems to have brought Obi-Wan’s energy with it. He needs something to do with his hands and a focus for his mind on days when he doesn’t have the physical strength to help with cooking, the endless laundry, or the incipient garden. </p><p>“Ah! I get it now!” Anakin exclaims, holding up a short swath of purple knitwork. He’s just managed to transition to the next row after several tries.</p><p>Obi-Wan is on his third row, not because knitting comes easily to him, but because he is practiced at paying attention. And Jobal Naberrie is a patient teacher. </p><p>The three of them are ensconced in the rarely-used front room of the cottage, with its loud floral couches and ornate wood furniture that are out of place among the otherwise relaxed decor. </p><p>“Well done, Anakin!” Jobal says and Anakin beams like a youngling. Obi-Wan smiles. It is good to see Anakin happy. Something about having Padme’s parents staying with them always settles him. Obi-Wan suspects their presence eases the part of Anakin that is always missing his own mother. He wishes he had met Shmi, and he is glad that Qui-Gon and Padme did. It’s important that they can remember her together. </p><p>There is someone undeniably comforting about Padme’s parents, who have welcomed two surprise babies, a secret son-in-law and a whole sprawling house of erstwhile Jedi with unfailing warmth.</p><p>“Now, this is very important,” Jobal begins, as she leans over to inspect Obi-Wan’s stitch.</p><p>“Hmm?” he answers.</p><p>“For your first scarf, be sure to give it to someone who loves you very much. That way, they won’t notice all the uneven bumps and lumps. Or if they do, they won’t mention it.” She smiles. “Just don’t expect them to wear it.”</p><p>“Baaaabe,” Anakin hollers. “I hope you like purple!”</p><p>Obi-Wan winces at the volume.</p><p>Padme sticks her head into the room from the adjacent study where she has been pouring through documents for Ahsoka. “Shhh! Ani, the babies are <i>finally</i> sleeping.”</p><p>“Right! Sorry, sorry!” Anakin says.</p><p>She grins. “And you know I love purple.” </p><p>Jobal looks at Obi-Wan. “And you, Obi-Wan? Who will you give your scarf to?”</p><p>“Qui-Gon, of course,” Anakin answers for him without looking up from his rows. </p><p>Obi-Wan looks at him sharply, blinking in surprise. He suddenly feels very warm. </p><p>“Oh!” Jobal says, eyelashes fluttering. “I… didn’t realize you were...together. I’m so sorry. I should have…Oh dear, Sera is going to be very disappointed.”</p><p>“Together?” Obi-Wan chokes. “Anakin...what are you talking about?”</p><p>Anakin looks up at him. “Aren’t you? I just assumed.”</p><p>“What? Why?” Obi-Wan’s voice sounds shrill even to his own ears. His insides squirm and his heartbeat quickens.</p><p>His former padawan shrugs. “You’ve been sharing a room for months. I know Qui-Gon put away the cot.”</p><p>“That’s just… practical,” Obi-Wan protests.</p><p>“Uh huh,” Anakin counters, eyebrows raised. When Obi-Wan doesn’t answer, he sighs. “Because I saw you. Kissing. In the Temple. Before you went in, to… you know… deal with things.” </p><p>Kissing? Qui-Gon? There’s a stabbing pain intensifying in his chest. What doesn’t he remember? “I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>Anakin shakes his head. He looks concerned. “I think you need to talk to Qui-Gon.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Obi-Wan grunts. He stares down at his meager rows, and the pattern swims before his eyes. Breathe. Stitch. Breathe. Stitch. He will talk to Qui-Gon.</p><p>“Wait, why would Sera be disappointed?” Anakin asks. Padme’s older sister Sera lives in the city. She has visited a few times and was there the last time Obi-Wan had discovered there was a gaping hole in his memory. </p><p>Jobal’s eyes widen. “Oh dear. I’ve really stepped in it, haven’t I?  Well,  it will be a beautiful scarf no matter who you give it to.”</p><p>“I suspect it will be rather lumpy,” Obi-Wan admits, looking at the slightly uneven stitches. </p><p>“Why would Sera be disappointed?” Anakin asks again. </p><p>“Why do you think, Anakin? She’s been on her own for a few years now.” Jobal says, slightly exasperated.</p><p>Anakin cocks his head to one side. “She has a crush on Obi-Wan?” </p><p>“Qui-Gon, if you must know. But I shouldn’t have said anything.” She sighs and smooths her own knitting, a toddler-sized yellow sweater.</p><p>“Huh. Isn’t she like twenty years younger than him?”</p><p>“Well, he is a very good looking man, whatever his age, Anakin,” Jobal says, face flushed.</p><p>Anakin grimaces. “Ugh. Gross.”</p><p>Obi-Wan is grateful for Anakin’s intermittent immaturity in this moment because it means he can huff and roll his eyes just as he used to. Though that’s jarring in and of itself, it’s preferable to the twisting in his gut that’s squeezing all the air out of his lungs.</p><p>“What’s gross?” Qui-Gon asks from the doorway. “And keep your voice down. The babies are finally sleeping.”</p><p>“Uh. Nothing,” Anakin says quickly. </p><p>Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow and looks at Obi-Wan.</p><p>Obi-Wan swallows and tries not to dwell on the elegant lines of Qui-Gon’s face, the broad sweep of his shoulders or the way his civilian trousers lie flat against his waist, unencumbered by layers of tunics and his obi and belt.</p><p>“I’ll fill you in later,” he manages.</p><p>Anakin chokes on his tea. The liquid sloshes over the rim, soaking his yarn. He yelps and Qui-Gon tosses him the dishtowel that was draped over his shoulder.</p><p>“It’a good thing Padme also likes sapir,” Jobal quips, “because you can’t wash that until it’s finished.”</p><p>Obi-Wan snorts. Wit certainly runs in the Naberrie family. He takes a sip of his own tea as Qui-Gon sets a plate of biscuits on the caff table. </p><p>“What are you making?” He looks curiously at Obi-Wan’s knitwork, while Anakin attempts to dry himself and his yarn.</p><p>“Scarves,” Jobal answers. “Would you like to join us?” She gestures to the open arm chair and passes him the colourful basket of skeins. </p><p>“Scarves? In spring?” Qui-Gon asks. </p><p>“It’s the easiest shape,” she explains.</p><p>“Plus it will take Anakin a year to finish his,” Obi-Wan teases. He’s advanced to his fifth row. Anakin is still pressing the towel into his damp wool.</p><p>Anakin scowls. “Yeah, yeah. See if I finish repairing that cleaning droid for you <i>now</i>.”</p><p>Qui-Gon chuckles, a low and rumbling sound that spreads through the room and dispels Obi-Wan’s unease. He draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly. He watches Qui-Gon pick through the basket as the feeling that he has started to recognize as peace spreads through his chest. Whatever happened, whatever he doesn’t remember, he is not afraid.</p><p>The yarn Qui-Gon selects is sky blue.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thanks so much to DarkIsRising who helped me sort out this troublesome dialogue!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spring settles in around the Naberrie cottage. The greenery comes back inch by inch, fed by intermittent showers and a warmer sun. The earth softens, flowers bloom and the insects and birds return. The ice on the lake cracks and melts, the pieces drifting apart and dissolving.</p><p>He has taken to meditating outside in the sunlight. He can sit for twenty minutes now, but he must anchor his focus on something in the world around him: a branch, a flower, a bird, the water’s edge, the bobbing chunks of ice. He still cannot empty his mind and he has stopped trying. He has learned that his mind is not the safest place to go wandering. </p><p>Obi-Wan presses his hands into the mottled grass, damp and still flattened from the cover of winter snow. A small patch of crocuses had started to open in the nearby bed and he has chosen to sit with them today. And, as much as it pains him to admit it, he needs the support of the brick behind his back. </p><p>A week, ten days, two weeks and more have passed, and he has still not spoken to Qui-Gon.</p><p>It's not that he hasn't wanted to. Several times he has opened his mouth with the full intention of asking something like <i>what happened between us before I faced Palpatine?</i>, or <i>Anakin says he saw us kissing; what is he talking about?</i> or even <i>did we kiss that night?</i></p><p>But each time, he remembers that they have spoken of that night in detail, in efforts to jog Obi-Wan’s memory, and each time Qui-Gon has omitted the details of their goodbye embrace. He isn't afraid of that. But he has a sense there's something not quite right about the timing, for him or for Qui-Gon.</p><p>The world is only just starting to make sense again. The routines of the house are simple and predictable. There is a rhythm that carries him along from waking before the sun, to caff in the early morning mist with Qui-Gon as they watch the sun climb above the treeline, to reading to the twins with their bright eyes and eager minds. To cooking, laundry, gentle katas, knitting, house dinner, the twins' bedtime, tea, quiet communal time in front of Padme and Anakin’s holonovels while he reads and Qui-Gon pretends not to watch, his nightime refresher routine, folding himself into Qui-Gon’s arms at night.</p><p>He doesn’t want anything to change. Not yet. His presentness to the world is precarious and right now the lacunae of his mind sit grey and shadowed, but unobtrusive, like the dark hollows beneath tree roots, or the empty snail shells that dot the garden. </p><p>No one knows the nature of his injury, and he still cannot remember anything that might illuminate it. What he does know is that he’s been fighting something Dark inside himself for as long as he’s been awake, and probably when he was unconscious as well. And these last few weeks it's been quiet and he would very much like to keep it that way while he is still waking up.</p><p>He fixes his attention on the crocus, its tiny purple petals and yellow centre, bright green leaves, pointed to push stubbornly through the earth. He feels the sun on his face and earth beneath him. The breeze that tousles his hair carries the smell of nuna roast and pie from the now open kitchen window to above him. He presses his back to the warm brick and inhales. He can make out the rush of a tap and muffled voices, one of them raised, the other a low rumble. </p><p>The tap shuts off with a thud.</p><p>“I’m serious, Qui-Gon. I’m worried. Why doesn’t he remember? Why hasn’t he said anything?” Anakin’s voice is urgent, insistent.</p><p>“Patience, Anakin,” Qui-Gon intones. Pots and cutlery clang in the sink.</p><p>“Argh! I’m sick of that mantra. I’m not a Jedi any more and you’re only one in name.”</p><p>Obi-Wan is both surprised and not surprised to hear Anakin brazenly call Qui-Gon on the strained liminal space in which the older man finds himself. He can picture Qui-Gon’s silent glower with enough accuracy to match Anakin’s response.</p><p>“Don’t give me that look. You haven’t touched your robes in weeks, and you’re teaching Leia and Luke every day, even though you’ve been mandated not to by the Council.”</p><p>“You’re teaching them. I’m merely supporting you.” </p><p>Ah. So that’s how Qui-Gon is presently splitting hairs. Obi-Wan had suspected as much. It is bantha shit, of course, but then again, it usually is.</p><p>“Bantha shit, Qui-Gon.” </p><p>Obi-Wan covers his smirk out of habit and nods to a passing voorpak. </p><p>“I don’t see what this has to do with Obi-Wan. He is healing. We can all see it.”</p><p>He has overheard enough. He should go. He tries to get up, but something keeps him transfixed in place. </p><p>“He’s still not the same.” The concern in Anakin’s voice is painful to hear. He had thought, these last few weeks—</p><p>“Of course he’s not the same. None of us are the same. I know you’re worried, but you need to be patient. Just as we all do.” There is an edge to Qui-Gon’s tone, underneath his patronizing, that sneaks under Obi-Wan’s skin and prickles. </p><p>“It’s been over a year.” A soft thunk, like a sponge or a dishcloth being thrown. “It’s like he doesn’t even want to remember.”</p><p>“How can you say that?” Qui-Gon demands.</p><p>“Well, he’s not asking you. He’s not asking me. He’s not asking Padme or Ahsoka. We were all there.”</p><p>“Because we’ve all been over it with him! There’s nothing more to add. You know what Master Che said. We can’t push this. It could be dangerous.” </p><p>“Uh huh.” </p><p>“Anakin.” Qui-Gon sounds frustrated. “What’s this about?”</p><p>Silence. Scrubbing noises. The tap runs a few more times and Obi-Wan renews his attempt to get up, but his limbs feel frozen. Is some part of him so anxious —or desperate— to know... what exactly? What the two men closest to him in the galaxy think of him? He should know. And if he doesn’t know, he should ask, not eavesdrop like a Shadow or worse, a sneaking child.</p><p>Anakin drops his next sentence like a stun grenade. “I saw you kissing.”</p><p>Obi-Wan swallows. His heart begins to pound. He has told himself over and over again he is not afraid. He is waiting. Waiting for the right time, for some sign from Qui-Gon, for more stability, more space…more…</p><p>“Ah.”  Qui-Gon's voice is flat, awkward, <i>neutral</i>.</p><p>His limbs begin to tremble and his breath stops. He knows then with excruciating clarity that he has been lying to himself, or at least, he has been very, very wrong. He grips the grass under his hands and presses his back against the rough brick.</p><p>“I saw you kissing and I may have… mentioned it… when we were knitting. Jobal had said this thing about giving the scarf to someone who loves you.”</p><p>“And it just came up, naturally.” Qui-Gon doesn’t sneer the words, but only barely. There is another clatter of dishes.</p><p>“I honestly thought you were together.” </p><p>“Aaaanakin." A cupboard door thuds closed. "A kiss before someone walks off to face the greatest evil the universe has seen for a thousand years is not—”</p><p>“It wasn’t <i>that</i> kind of kiss.”</p><p><i>Wasn’t it? </i> He twists the grass under his hands.</p><p>“Oh? And you would know because?”</p><p>“A million little reasons. But let's start with the fact that you’ve been sharing a bed for months.”</p><p>“That’s practical," Qui-Gon refutes with such speed and affectation of ease that Obi-Wan knows its practiced.</p><p>The air starts to trickle back into his lungs.</p><p>Anakin snorts. “Yeah. That’s what he said.”</p><p>“Because it’s true.”</p><p>“Stop lying to me. I know you have feelings for him. And he’s been in love with you for…Force, as long as I’ve known him.”</p><p>Obi-Wan’s heart drops and his limbs have transmuted to lead. <i>Oh Anakin</i>. He has not given his former padawan enough credit. Not by half. </p><p>“Anakin. Stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, I have to turn the roast, and lay out the rolls and—.”</p><p>“<i>You weren’t there!</i>" The sound of a hand hitting a flat surface swallows Qui-Gon’s words. "After Maul skewered you on Naboo. You didn’t see him. We did.” </p><p>Anakin’s vehemence sends shivers down Obi-Wan’s spine.</p><p>“I most certainly was.” Low, almost a growl. Obi-Wan feels the vibration in his gut as if he were pressed up against him. Qui-Gon’s near infinite patience is approaching its limit.</p><p>“<i>You</i> were unconscious. The way he held you. The way he looked at you…” Anakin’s voice cracks. “I don’t know why he isn’t talking to you. And I don’t know why he doesn’t remember. But I know this: he needs this. And you need this.”</p><p>“Anakin.” This time the name is a plea. </p><p>“Qui-Gon, you are the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had. Whether you like it or not, I know you. I’ve known you since I was nine years old. You were lonely then and you’re lonely now. And you don’t need to be. Neither of you do. Not anymore.”</p><p>Silence falls, weighty and expansive, like they’ve dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of wild space. What lies beyond the borders of this known world?</p><p>Qui-Gon groans and Obi-Wan imagines him sweeping a hand over his face, his usual gesture when he is bone tired or overwhelmed. Obi-Wan pictures his shoulders falling and hunching. His hand gripping the counter. Tears bright in his eyes for a moment before he blinks them away.</p><p>He hears the sounds of them breathing and he hopes, he hopes, the sound of cloth brushing cloth is an embrace. </p><p>The pounding of his own heart fills his ears.</p><p>“Now," Anakin says gently, with the same steady kindness he used once upon a time to instruct Ahsoka, "I’m going to turn the nuna roast and put on the rolls and <i>you</i> are going to go talk to Obi-Wan.” </p><p>“I—” Qui-Gon’s voice breaks.</p><p>“What?” Anakin asks. And then softer. “Qui-Gon?”</p><p>“I don’t know what to say," he says in a rough whisper.</p><p>“You don’t need to. It’s Obi-Wan. He knows you.”</p><p>“What if he doesn’t-”</p><p>“He does.” Conviction rings in every syllable and Obi-Wan wonders how he missed that Anakin has been able to read him so transparently for so long.</p><p>“As you said, he hasn’t said anything. I should wait for him to say something.”</p><p>Anakin sighs with unmistakable exasperation and perhaps a roll of his eyes.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The Temple really fucked you guys over, didn’t they? No fear when you’re in battle. No fear when the galaxy crumbles around you. But talking about kissing and you hide like scared tooka cats.”</p><p>“It’s not so easy, Anakin. Two of those things I was trained for.”</p><p>“And one of those things you were trained not to.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“So I guess you’ve never….?”</p><p>“I’m not answering that," Qui-Gon says, voice suddenly sharp.</p><p>“Oh. Wow. And Obi-Wan?”</p><p>“I said no."</p><p>"Fine. Okay. But talk to Obi-Wan. He has a right to know."</p><p>Qui-Gon blows out a breath. "I honestly didn’t know he didnt."</p><p>"Oh, well that makes everything make sense."</p><p>“I need to meditate.”</p><p>“Good. Go meditate. And when the Force agrees with me, then I get to say I told you so.”</p><p>Qui-Gon huffs. “We’ll see.” The door to the dining room creaks on its hinges. </p><p>“Qui-Gon?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“You know what would <i>really</i> piss the Council off?”</p><p>Qui-Gon snorts and then laughs, shrill and stressed, but a laugh nonetheless. "I suppose that's true. But I would never want to enter into a relationship with Obi-Wan out of spite.”</p><p>“I have news for you, Qui-Gon.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“That ship has already taken off, entered hyperspace and made it halfway to the Outer Rim. You’re just not talking about it. Yet.”</p><p>Qui-Gon inhales and exhales with such force that Obi-Wan can picture the flare of his nostrils and set of his jaw.</p><p>“I just want you to be happy,” Anakin calls after him.</p><p>Qui-Gon’s reply is hard to make out, but the cadence sounds like “I know.”</p><p>Obi-Wan lets out the breath he’s been holding. Thoughts spinning, he folds forward, pressing his forehead towards the earth. He draws in a few breaths that smell like damp soil and green things before he rolls to his hands and knees, from there rising stiffly. He drifts towards the lake, hands folded into the sleeves of his tunic, welcoming the rising din of the birds and cicadas announcing the start of sunset.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He finds his tree by the lake and settles beneath it, then finds the calm line of water and stares at it with all of the effort he once put towards learning lightsaber forms, astrometrics, and galactic law.  Before the war, he had focus: it was easy in the way that walking and breathing were. Some days, it’s like wading through jelly, or smoke, or scratching brambles. Other days, it’s like trying to concentrate through light shining in his eyes or a high pitch drone sounding in his ears. Or worse, like today, a feeling of running at full tilt or hurtling through hyperspace while being chased by a nameless thing. He longs for the days when there was nothing between him and the focus or the action he wanted to take.</p><p>Anakin’s words have produced a kind of shock in him. The colours around him are painfully over-saturated and his senses are on overdrive. He remembers this kind of adrenaline and vigilance from war, but now he feels overtaken by it.</p><p>The water is a glassy deep grey, mottled with colours of the sky. He grits his teeth and stares and stares. He breathes in and out, deep long breaths.</p><p>His chest aches. Anakin has torn open every door in his heart and left them wide open and gaping for the world to wander through.</p><p>For Qui-Gon to wander through.</p><p>How has his padawan known, all this time, things that Obi-Wan has been carefully concealing from everyone, sometimes even himself?</p><p>He remembers the first time he saw Qui-Gon, nearly twenty years ago, towering over a long-forgotten opponent in the training salle, the light from the high windows catching on his chestnut hair. Even standing there, he had radiated strength in every line of his body. But it was little soft things, the twitch of his mouth, the kindness of his eyes, the gentleness of his smile that made his features so striking. He had the bearing of a man worn by experience and care, however tightly reigned, and that was rare among Masters and had captivated Obi-Wan’s young heart. He remembers that duel, how his breath had caught and heart thundered in his chest watching movements so elegant and powerful his skin had prickled and his mind whirred like a computer in overdrive.</p><p>When Anakin had first confessed about his relationship with Padme, he had told Obi-Wan that it was love at first sight. Obi-Wan had shaken his head and said he didn't understand.</p><p>He knows now he was wrong. </p><p>He lets out a long exhale and finds that accepting this feeling, this truth—his truth—without fighting or judgement, shifts something inside him. It is easier now to be with the stillness of the water and the gentle movement of the air, the rustling of the reeds and drone of the cicadas, the birds and voorpak that have come to investigate his presence.</p><p>Anakin, as brazen and blunt as he is, is right.</p><p>This doesn’t scare him nearly as much as what to do about it or what it means.</p><p>How can he be a Jedi now?</p><p>Anakin’s words pierce through him here too. They are not Jedi any more. </p><p>Jedi do not curl up to watch documentaries and holonovels together, while babies play.</p><p>Jedi do not practice stitches and knead dough.</p><p>Jedi do not curl around each other at night, savouring the slide of skin and sturdy heat and thump, thump, thump of another’s heartbeat. Jedi do not press their faces so close that their noses nearly touch and their eyes struggle to focus. </p><p>Jedi do not reach for comfort from the world or anything in it. </p><p>
  <i>Luminous beings we are, not this gross matter.</i>
</p><p>He believes this. He is not so altered that he has forgotten the deep reality of the Force, the vast energy field that binds the universe together, of which they are all a part. He knows the same spark lives in him and Qui-Gon and Anakin and Padme and Ahsoka, and Luke and Leia, and Jobal and Ruwee. </p><p>They are all luminous, eternal and so much more than their mortal forms. </p><p>But then why should the connections between them not also be luminous?</p><p>This is heresy, he knows, yet strangely, it doesn’t disturb him. Instead, an important question surfaces.</p><p>If this is true, why does he still hold back from the Force?</p><p>He ponders this, without insight, until the sun dips below the horizon and Anakin calls to him from the house.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Obi-Wan steps into the warmth of the dining room where Qui-Gon is carving the nuna roast in his floral apron and Anakin is buckling Leia into her high chair and it hits him that he is not going to be able to think his way out of this...situation. Qui-Gon's eyes flick up and he nods. He doesn’t smile his open smile, full of ease, nor his lopsided half-smile of amusement nor even the shy tug of the corner of his lips. Obi-Wan doesn't need the Force to read the lines and signs of Qui-Gon’s body. Unless he is angry at the nuna roast, he's painfully uneasy. The line of his shoulders is sharp and his jaw pulses. </p><p>"Oh thank goodness," Padme exclaims, sweeping past him with a bowl of peas. "These two have gotten into a fight about something and I swear you can cut the tension with a vibroblade."</p><p>Possibility hangs in the air like an iridescent soap bubble. He could let it float away and retreat to the silence and distance beckoning in Qui-Gon’s averted eyes. He’s been here before, of course, and he can picture this evening in miserable detail. Superficial conversation, excuses, a perfectly good reason for Qui-Gon to escape to his own room that has been gathering dust unused for weeks now. No one knows Qui-Gon’s retreats better than Obi-Wan. Nor Anakin's pursuits, for that matter, except maybe Padme, but Obi-Wan had nine years of training the man before their secret courtship. Anakin’s eyes keep darting over to Qui-Gon and his lips are pursed, like he’s waiting to speak. He has never weathered Qui-Gon’s distance well and he’s never quite learned how to leave well enough alone.</p><p>Surely they've all had enough of this dance.<br/>
</p><p>"I know," Obi-Wan hears himself say, and two pairs of startled blue eyes train themselves on him immediately.<br/>
</p><p>"You...know?" Anakin stammers, flush rising up his neck from his deep brown shirt. With his eyes so wide, he looks like he's a guilty fifteen year old, bracing for a lesson. He straightens and smooths his non-existent tabards.<br/>
</p><p>Qui-Gon's face mirrors his, with a layer of regret that makes Obi-Wan’s heart ache. He's seen holos of Qui-Gon at fifteen and he can imagine this is how he would have looked as an errant padawan.<br/>
</p><p>But Obi-Wan is not Dooku, nor Yoda, nor even the same man he was when Anakin was fifteen.<br/>
</p><p>He sighs and smiles weakly. He's a tad ashamed of himself for listening.<br/>
</p><p>"Please tell me this is like, the Force is back and you picked up a vibe…" Anakin gulps.<br/>
</p><p>"No," Obi-Wan responds, as neutrally as he can. "I overheard you."<br/>
</p><p>Qui-Gon coughs and his face begins to fall. "How much did you overhear?"<br/>
</p><p>"Enough,” he admits as both of them wince.<br/>
</p><p>Padme, unfazed, looks up from spooning out peas for Leia. "Is this about the two of them?" she asks Anakin.<br/>
</p><p>"Uhhh.” Anakin rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “It's not <i> not</i> about the two of them."<br/>
</p><p>"Finally," she says with a huff, putting the plate down in front of the eager toddler. "I was beginning to think I was going to have to tie you two together with those scarves you're knitting.” The look she gives them is not unlike the exasperation she can muster for Luke and Leia when they are especially recalcitrant about baths or socks.<br/>
</p><p>He flinches. The heat of his face tells him he has a blush to match Anakin’s now. Horror wars with sympathy across Qui-Gon's features.<br/>
</p><p>"Patience, Padme. These two will talk when they're ready," Anakin says glibly, arms crossed, and Qui-Gon casts him a sour look, like he wants to swat him and be enveloped by the ground at the same time.<br/>
</p><p>"Well, now's as good a time as any," she says, hands on her hips. "Why don't we take the twins to the living room and put on some Dancing Ewoks or whatever that show is called."<br/>
</p><p>Qui-Gon blanches and the silver serving fork slips from his grasp and hits the plate with a clatter. The thread of nervousness tangled in Obi-Wan’s gut feels like it’s been pulled tight and plucked. He takes a breath, fighting a measure of frustration at the fluttering overtaking his heart. "I don't think that's necessary. None of this is exactly new. It will keep through dinner." He pulls out his chair and sits down.<br/>
</p><p>Padme looks at Qui-Gon with furrowed brow and pressed lips, considering. He meets her gaze, chin lifted. She sighs and shrugs, turning to Luke’s plate. "It's been at least fourteen years from my count, so sure, fair enough."<br/>
</p><p>Qui-Gon only grimaces in response. He retrieves the lost fork and goes back to the bird he's carving.<br/>
</p><p>Despite the palpable disquiet, they settle at the table in their usual formation around the heavy wood table, the twins in highchairs, flanked by Anakin and Qui-Gon at the ends of the table, Padme and Obi-Wan between them, facing the twins. The spring air carries a chill at night, so the fire at the far end of the room is gently glowing and the meal wouldn’t be out of place in the winter: spiced kashmeal, rosemary peas, roasted carrots, savory buns.<br/>
</p><p>Going through the motions of dinner breaks some of the tension. Food has to be distributed and eaten, water poured and drunk, salt and butter passed around. It’s only the six of them at dinner tonight, though Qui-Gon and Anakin have cooked enough for eight. Jobal and Ruwee are back in the city for a few days, visiting Padme’s sister Sera and her children. Qui-Gon is taciturn at first and Anakin nervously chatty. He and Padme carry the conversation for a while as she updates him on family developments. Meanwhile, Qui-Gon attends to the twins, retrieving lost plastic forks and watching over them as they pick through the contents of their brightly coloured plates. </p><p> Obi-Wan ponders turning the inevitable leftovers into soup tomorrow. He has a regular turn in the kitchen now and has started paying attention. There’s new basil and thyme in the window boxes in his room and he can use the nuna bones for stock. He’ll need Qui-Gon’s help with the pressure cooker. It will be good to have something fresh to go with it. Maybe the lettuce in the little greenhouse will be ready.<br/>
</p><p>The strangeness of his life now sweeps over him once again, buoyed by the vacuum of awkwardness between him and Qui-Gon. It threatens to pull him away from the otherwise tranquil present: the crackling fire, the drone of cricket-song, the simple but satisfying flavours of the food, Padme’s musical laugh, the softness in Anakin’s voice as he reminds Leia to use both hands with her cup, the gravitational pull of Qui-Gon on his right.<br/>
</p><p>Outside, the sky has turned a deep azure and the setting sun is casting shadows from the trees. Luke is squirming in his chair. He claps his hands and points at the window. The outline of a young Ikopi is just visible, bending its long neck to chew the new grass and clover.<br/>
</p><p>“Good eye, young one,” Obi-Wan says and Luke giggles.<br/>
</p><p>“Kop!” he blurts.<br/>
</p><p>“That’s right,” Qui-Gon rumbles. His left knee bounces under the table as he meets Obi-Wan’s eyes with a hesitant smile. Obi-Wan feels the energetic pulse of his heartbeat spike and then slow. He smiles back, despite the blush rising once again on his cheeks. He longs to reach out to still the movement of Qui-Gon’s knee, but holds back. He swallows and take a welcome sip of cold water.<br/>
</p><p>Anakin is recounting the details of Ahsoka’s latest comm now. The union has been formalized, but the internal divisions are halting negotiations with the business syndicates. The Chancellor's office may need to intervene.<br/>
</p><p>"They should send in Sha'ak Ti, or Kit Fisto," Qui-Gon suggests.<br/>
</p><p>"They can't. Mon Cala has erupted into civil war. Sha'ak Ti is on Sullust."<br/>
</p><p>"How does Ahsoka know that?" Qui-Gon asks, suspicion narrowing his brows.<br/>
</p><p>"Haven’t you heard?" Padme says. "The Jedi Order is now required to publicize master and knight deployments. It's part of the new 'transparency' initiatives."<br/>
</p><p>"Transparency?" Qui-Gon repeats. His eyebrows jump. "That's putting a target on their backs." The pace of his jittery knee increases.<br/>
</p><p>Padme inhales and exhales sharply in agreement.<br/>
</p><p>"Publicize where? Surely not the Holonet?" Obi-Wan asks. This is the first he’s heard of it too and he shares Qui-Gon’s concern.<br/>
</p><p>"No. There's a new independent watchdog organization that has the list, but the clearance levels required to access it aren't particularly high. Local planetary and system governments can access it easily enough. The information becomes...available."<br/>
</p><p>"Yeah especially since that karking Justice not Jedi group has been getting people to post sightings of Jedi on holonet social sites,” Anakin adds.<br/>
</p><p>“Language, Ani!” Padme admonishes.<br/>
</p><p>“Karking isn’t a real swear word. Come on!”<br/>
</p><p>She stares at him until he sighs.  “Alright that <i>annoying</i> group Justice not Jedi.”<br/>
</p><p>"Social sites?" Qui-Gon asks.<br/>
</p><p>"Personal accounts, but people can have millions of followers,” Anakin explains.<br/>
</p><p>“Think of them as independent press, but without any training or ethics or professional credibility,” Padme says.<br/>
</p><p>"Rumourmongers?" Qui-Gon says darkly.<br/>
</p><p>"Essentially,” Padme agrees.<br/>
</p><p>"What does that mean for us here?" Qui-Gon asks.<br/>
</p><p>Obi-Wan stills Qui-Gon’s knee under the table, fingers pressing into tense flesh. Qui-Gon starts at the contact. He looks down in surprise and then draws in a long breath and covers Obi-Wan’s hand with his own.<br/>
</p><p>Padme looks at Anakin. His mouth draws into a tight line and he scowls.<br/>
</p><p>"We're not really sure, but for now, nothing. You're not listed as active duty, so the watchdog has no information. And no one has seen you, publicly at least, since…?" Padme trails off.<br/>
</p><p>A heavy silence falls as the four of them review timelines in their heads.<br/>
</p><p>"The Second Battle of Coruscant," Obi-Wan whispers, as if speaking of the past will resurrect the danger. He thinks of that time as <i>Before</i>. Before the end of the war. Before he was injured. Before Naboo. 
</p><p>Before everything changed.<br/>
</p><p>Sparks of fear flicker in his gut. He puts down his fork, nauseated. The warmth of the fire is too much now, the air cloying.<br/>
</p><p>The outside world always looms in conversations like these, but it intrudes even more now as he realizes he hasn't thought about the Order in the present. All of his reflections and conversations with Qui-Gon, not that there have been many, have been about the past. He has no idea what his colleagues, his friends are facing in this new world. He has almost no idea what the state and shape of the Republic is, never mind the former Separatist worlds.<br/>
</p><p>A great weight presses down on his face and chest, and a sudden exhaustion pulls him down into his chair. Nuna meat and peas sit like a rock inside him. His limbs feel heavy and fuzzy and the room turns dark and cold, the cheerful glow and the warmth evaporated.<br/>
</p><p>“Hey!” Anakin calls, his voice pitched to command Obi-Wan’s attention. “We needed you here. And you can only be in one place at once. Remember?”<br/>
</p><p>The conviction in his padawan’s voice interrupts the spell of dread and guilt. Qui-Gon squeezes his hand, which has gone limp on his knee.  He looks up into worried eyes and squeezes Qui-Gon’s hand back. He’s here.<br/>
</p><p>Luke’s squeal of laughter is like a clarion call, dispelling the shadows of the past and future. Leia’s peas float and wobble in front of her, her face scrunched in concentration. A glint in her eye and then a pea launches towards Luke and bounces off his forehead and he freezes for a moment before breaking out into a wail.<br/>
</p><p>Padme stifles laughter beside Obi-Wan as she gets up. Qui-Gon has released his hand and turned to Luke, soft noises at Luke. “Oh no. Yes, it’s very hard. That was not a nice thing she did.”<br/>
</p><p>Anakin is trying neither to laugh nor look too proud as he puts on a stern voice to tell Leia that it’s not okay to shoot peas at her brother with the Force. Padme scoops up Luke and he sniffles and dumps his head into the space between her jaw and her collerbone with a soft thud. He looks mollified for a moment, but then whacks Leia on the head as Padme passes by her, whereupon Leia starts to scream. Anakin shakes his head. “I don’t know what you were expecting, kid,” he huffs fondly. He reaches for her, but her crying intensifies.<br/>
</p><p>It’s only when Qui-Gon lifts her into his arms and tucks her head under his chin that she begins to settle, popping her thumb in her mouth and glaring at her brother.<br/>
</p><p>“Alright, alright,” Qui-Gon soothes.<br/>
</p><p>Obi-Wan turns to Luke, who is settling in Padme’s arms beside him. He places a hand on his warm little back and looks the affronted boy in his glistening eyes. He says gently but steadily, “revenge is not the Jed—” His heartbeat skips as he stops himself and revises the ancient aphorism. “Revenge is not the way of the Light, young one.” The words feel lumpy and awkward in his mouth, but somehow sweet, like muffins that have escaped their tin or misshapen biscuits.<br/>
</p><p>Luke looks down and then turns away to smush his face into Padme’s shoulder. Obi-Wan brushes his hair gently as he moves his hand away.<br/>
</p><p>Padme kisses the top of Luke’s head and rocks him tenderly.<br/>
</p><p>“Listen to Uncle Obi, Luke. He has lots to teach you.”</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A million and one thank yous to DarkisRising, without whom this chapter would not be what it is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They pile into the living room after dinner, once the dishes are cleared away and the leftovers are stowed in the conservator. Qui-Gon pulled the pressure cooker down from the top shelf for tomorrow while Obi-Wan made tea. The babies are freshly bathed and wiggling on the floor in their footed night clothes with an odd assortment of toys. They’re a little too keyed up to sleep still and since neither is trying to attack the other, they will play while the adults drink tea and knit and watch a staid mystery holonovel.</p><p>Obi-Wan knows he and Qui-Gon have both been using the evening routine to stall. As long as Anakin and Padme are around, sensitive topics cannot be broached. But the nervousness twisting in his core is starting to melt into impatience as he sits nestled on the couch, not a foot from Qui-Gon, knitting and letting the glow of the holocaster warm some ephemeral part of him. </p><p>“This really doesn’t make any sense,” Anakin says, gesturing at the program. “There’s no way a town that small and remote has that many murders.”</p><p>“But how would the dashing inspector look sadly into the distance if there weren’t so many murders,” Padme responds with teasing sarcasm.</p><p>“Dashing? You think he’s dashing?” </p><p>“He has a certain gravitas,” she admits.</p><p>“I think he looks like a womprat,” Anakin huffs, sitting back with his arms crossed.</p><p>Qui-Gon chuckles as his knitting needles clack. “He does have certain, rodent-like air.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s the skulking?” Obi-Wan offers. He hasn’t really been paying attention, but he’s absorbed enough through osmosis. The plots the twins babble at each other, from what he can tell, have more creative ingenuity than this predictable recycling of tropes. </p><p>“To be fair, he seems to skulk less than the last one,” Padme says, taking a sip of tea.</p><p>“Does he?” Qui-Gon asks.</p><p>“Eh. Maybe it’s because his wife is only divorced, not dead, like the last two?” Anakin adds.</p><p>“Why are the wives always dead?” Padme asks, with a measure of genuine indignation.</p><p>“Misogyny?” Qui-Gon offers. </p><p>“If it smells like a bantha…” Anakin says with a shrug.</p><p>Padme gives them a wry smile, before sliding off the couch to join Luke and Leia in their endeavor to fit all of the animal figures into a toy speeder.</p><p>Qui-Gon finishes his row and leans forward to place his knitting on the low caff table. He yawns as he sits back and stretches his arm along the length of the couch, and it’s so, so easy for Obi-Wan to lean his head back to make contact. Qui-Gon doesn’t give the appearance of noticing, but his fingers brush the hair at the base of Obi-Wan’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. Obi-Wan breathes through it and wills himself to relax. They are what they are. Anakin and Padme know. There isn’t anyone here who will admonish them for this quiet affection. </p><p>Qui-Gon seems to sense his sudden unease because he lays his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and squeezes. Obi-Wan turns to look at him and sees a tight sympathetic smile and worried eyes. The hand on his shoulder tugs, and Obi-Wan finds himself drawn across the small couch into Qui-Gon’s side. His heart pounds. Outwardly, Qui-Gon still looks calm, but his heart is also pounding.  Obi-Wan can feel it where his shoulder makes contact with Qui-Gon’s ribs. </p><p>He swallows and takes a breath and then leans his head against Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Qui-Gon’s arm tightens around him. The hononovel continues to play its sweeping scenes of craggy remote landscapes and oversaturated interiors. As repetitive as it is, there is something peaceful about the tone of this genre, with its wistful music and soft-spoken men trying to restore peace to their fragmented communities at the edge of the world. He relaxes into the warmth of Qui-Gon’s body.</p><p>Just before he falls asleep, he catches Anakin’s beatific smile and lets himself smile back. </p><p>***</p><p>He wakes some time later to the brush of lips and soft whiskers against his forehead. The room is dark and quiet, the holocaster switched off and the babies and their parents long departed for bed. He is still tucked against Qui-Gon, who has been reading on his datapad one-handed. </p><p>“You let me sleep?” he asks, voice rough with sleep. </p><p>‘Mmmmm,” Qui-Gon rumbles. “You seemed to need it. And I had some reading to do.”</p><p>Qui-Gon’s voice is somewhat somber and Obi-Wan can feel Qui-Gon’s muscles jump under his green knit sweater as tension takes hold of his long body. </p><p>It’s dark outside now, even the crickets are silent. The moonlight is bright on edge of water he can see from the window behind the couch. It casts half of Qui-Gon’s face in shadow.</p><p>“What time is it?” </p><p>“Just past ten-thirty.” Qui-Gon shifts to put his datapad on the table.</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks and sits up with a yawn. His neck is a bit stiff and he’s warm. It’s then he notices the crocheted blanket draped around him. He looks at it quizzically as he peels it off and folds it automatically.</p><p>“Anakin insisted you might get cold," Qui-Gon explains.</p><p>Obi-Wan huffs to cover the pulse of alarm growing louder in his gut. “He used to put those awful military blankets over me when I feel asleep at my desk," Obi-Wan says, meting out the words like the inches of teal fabric he’s placing between them as he sits back. </p><p>“I remember those. Scratchy and thin at the same time. And the over-starched sheets. It feels like a lifetime ago.” Qui-Gon’s voice is thin.</p><p>“I think in some ways it was,” Obi-Wan says, aware that he's just yielded to Qui-Gon the threshold of something important, and wherever they go, there is no going back. </p><p>When Anakin was young, the three of them had visited the ancient mountain temple of Yestrar on Bardotta. Great carved slabs of white stone rose up for nearly twenty stories, guarding the doorway to the sanctuary. The wind had whipped at their robes as the sun set, and the stone glittered in the orange light.</p><p>The Force had been strong there, but with a texture or density so ancient he'd sworn he could hear the silence itself.</p><p>He feels the same air of portent now and wonders if Qui-Gon is thinking of the same temple as they sit side by side, staring sightlessly at the blank holocaster and empty fireplace. </p><p>“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asks into the shadows. </p><p>“Yes," Obi-Wan answers.</p><p>"What are we doing?” Qui-Gon whispers. His voice is rough and he can only glance in Obi-Wan's direction, but he reaches a hand out. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan whispers back.</p><p>He holds his breath as he takes Qui-Gon’s hand and feels the same frisson of awe that he did months ago when snow still covered the ground. Qui-Gon’s palm is damp and soft and warm. </p><p>Qui-Gon releases a pained sigh and twines his fingers with Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan leans back against the cushion and forces himself to breathe.</p><p>"Anakin told me that you don’t remember...” Qui-Gon's words trail off and he swallows thickly. </p><p>These words belong to some other universe. They stick in his throat, coarse when they should be gentle. "Our first kiss?” </p><p>“Yes.” Qui-Gon answers, his fingers tightening on Obi-Wan’s hand.</p><p>“I don’t,” Obi-Wan says. An unexpected sadness weighs down his words. </p><p>“I thought you knew," Qui-Gon says in a rush, then pauses. "But that doesn’t make sense, does it?”</p><p>“No. I suppose it doesn’t.”</p><p>“I was afraid. I <i>am</i> afraid.” His eyes close and he squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand. The bones of his fingers press hard against Obi-Wan skin.  </p><p>“Of?” Obi-Wan’s heart pounds and he looks past Qui-Gon out the window to the moonlight on the water. </p><p>“Everything? I don't know. I've never done this before.” Qui-Gon is as flustered as Obi-Wan has ever seen him. His words pour out of him, hurried and then halting. “I worry that it only happened because of the timing. That you didn’t want…”</p><p>After decades of pondering the nature of Qui-Gon’s feelings for him, it’s a kind of exquisite pain to hear Qui-Gon voice his fear, however obliquely, that Obi-Wan doesn’t return his desire.</p><p>“Qui-Gon?” He runs his thumb over the back of Qui-Gon’s hand, feeling the bristling hairs and pulse of blood through his veins. He can feel the beat of Qui-Gon’s heart through his palm.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He looks directly at Qui-Gon as he says this, though Qui-Gon is still staring ahead. “Anakin was right. Everything he said about my feelings after Maul. And now.”</p><p>A sharp intake of breath and then Qui-Gon’s eyes are on him, wide in wonder. </p><p>“Oh,” Qui-Gon breathes when Obi-Wan meets his gaze with unguarded softness. </p><p>He squeezes Qui-Gon’s hand for purchase because instead of stepping into the stone temple, it’s like he's leaping off the side of the mountain. </p><p>His heart hammers in his chest as he asks, "Will you show me?" </p><p>Qui-Gon blinks and exhales so forcefully his nostrils flare. His free hand smooths the hair on the top of his head. </p><p>Obi-Wan waits, unbreathing, for Qui-Gon to nod slowly. He stands up, and Obi-Wan follows, their hands still joined.</p><p>The space between the couch and the low table is just wide enough that they can stand facing each other. Then the weighted heat of Qui-Gon’s hand finds the small of his back and pulls Obi-Wan forward until they are chest to chest. Qui-Gon releases Obi-Wan’s hand and brings his freed hand up to brush his cheek.</p><p>Obi-Wan looks up into bright eyes, and a serious expression. </p><p>"We stood like this," Qu-Gon says. He strokes Obi-Wan’s cheek with his thumb, cradling the side of his jaw. “I was angry and skeptical, and you were magnificent. Serene. At peace with your duty." There is an awe in Qui-Gon’s voice Obi-Wan has never heard before.</p><p>Obi-Wan swallows and covers Qui-Gon's hand with his own. He is glad of the edge of the couch braced against his calf and the texture of the carpet beneath his feet. Without these sensations, he might float away.  </p><p>Qui-Gon tips their foreheads together. His great frame is trembling. "I had never been so afraid in my whole life,” he confesses, voice wrung out and cracking. "I told you, 'I don't want to lose you.'"</p><p>Obi-Wan takes in these words and the meaning inside them, buried deep beneath stone facades and tabards Qui-Gon no longer wears. </p><p>He knows now what he said back. </p><p>There are only so many ways a Jedi doesn’t say ‘I love you.’</p><p>"I don't want to be lost," he whispers into the space between them.</p><p>Qui-Gon chokes back a sob and pulls Obi-Wan into his arms. Qui-Gon has always been a strong man, muscles honed from decades of physical exertion, but Obi-Wan has seldom experienced <i>how</i> strong. His ribs creak and his breath catches as Qui-Gon crushes Obi-Wan’s smaller frame against him, as if he’s trying to keep him from vanishing. "I don't know what I would have done, if you hadn't come back. I—"</p><p>
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</p><p>"Shhhhh," Obi-Wan murmurs, hugging Qui-Gon back in equal measure. He presses his face against Qui-Gon’s wildly beating heart. "I went for you, and Anakin and Padme and Luke and Leia. And I came back for you too." </p><p>And there it was, the mystery, in brilliant simplicity. Love might lead one to walk closer to the Dark, but it was also the way through.</p><p>The realization unlocks a door inside Obi-Wan’s mind that he had forgotten was there and though he is not ready to open it, he suspect—knows—that there are answers waiting for him beyond it, in the Dark</p><p>He has been here before, and he knows now, as he did then, that he needs this if he is to go into the Dark and not just survive it, but come back.</p><p>Qui-Gon shudders in his arms. Hot tears fall into Obi-Wan’s hair. </p><p>They hold each other in the hushed night, time and space and the world outside meaningless in the wake of their unspoken feeling. </p><p>Slowly, slowly, Obi-Wan smoothes his hands against Qui-Gon’s back and then lets go. Qui-Gon relaxes his grip in turn, and Obi-Wan slides his arms free. He takes Qui-Gon’s face in both his hands and looks up into beloved eyes. Longing surges in his chest and lower, heat curling in his stomach and seeping downwards. He runs his thumb along the edge of Qui-Gon’s mouth.He has never loved anyone the way he loves Qui-Gon and he wants to show him—he aches to show him—how much. </p><p>“Please,” he breathes and Qui-Gon meets his eyes with reverence and trepidation and joy that is luminous in the dark. </p><p>Qui-Gon dips his head as Obi-Wan stands on the balls of his feet, arching upwards to bring their mouths together.  </p><p>Qui-Gon’s lips are soft, and his beard tickles Obi-Wan’s nose. He tastes like mint and salt. Obi-Wan’s heart hammers in his chest, and aches with thrill and joy and something bittersweet. He presses up against Qui-Gon and Qui-Gon’s hands find his hips. They rock against each other as the kiss deepens. When their touches grow firmer and their tongues meet, their legs intwine and Obi-Wan realizes with a shock that Qui-Gon’s erection is pressing against his hip. He starts in surprise, however unwarranted. It's not as if his own hardness isn’t straining against his small clothes. </p><p>Qui-Gon breaks the kiss with a worried noise and Obi-Wan interrupts him.</p><p>“I’m alright.”</p><p>“Are you sure? I didn’t mean…” Qui-Gon sounds concerned and hesitant and Obi-Wan knows that he would see a blush forming under Qui-Gon’s beard if there were enough light. </p><p>"I’m alright," Obi-Wan reassures him. "Are you alright?” he asks, shifting his stance so Qui-Gon can feel he is just as hard. Qui-Gon gasps and makes a strangled noise. His thumbs press firmly against Obi-Wan’s hip bones as he pulls his hips away. </p><p>“I feel like my skin is the only thing keeping me from dissolving into the Force,” he grinds out. He blows out a breath. “Oh Obi-Wan, I don’t know how to do this. My heart is split. I know what I want, and I know what feels right, but everything I’ve been taught… Everything I taught you, and Anakin…”</p><p>“Contradicts this,” Obi-Wan supplies.</p><p>“Yes."</p><p>Obi-Wan slips his arms around Qui-Gon’s waist and settles them in the small of his back. "I know that the Masters would agree that love is not synonymous with attachment, but there is no place for this in the Order.”</p><p>“No,” Qui-Gon says gravely. “The pleasures of the body are one thing. The heart is quite another. And combined? A potent danger for even the most balanced Master.”</p><p>“And yet.”</p><p>“And yet.”</p><p>“Here we are.”</p><p>“Here we are, indeed.”</p><p>“And there’s no place for any of this, is there?" It’s not really a question. Obi-Wan knows the crowded family cottage with its small, worldly concerns and abundant comfort would be starkly out of place in the Order. </p><p>“No,” Qui-Gon agrees. “This life is different.” He pauses, straightens. “There was love at the Temple, despite everything. But the love here is warmer, like a different wavelength of light. I see Anakin and Padme and the twins and their grandparents. They are happy, at peace and <em>together</em> in a way that is both foreign and full of Light."</p><p>Obi-Wan nods. “Anakin has found a different kind of balance. And Luke and Leia will too.”</p><p>“They will,” Qui-Gon rumbles, conviction deepening his voice.</p><p>Obi-Wan swallows the lump in his throat that threatens to block this path. "We live here too."</p><p>"We do."</p><p>He tries to picture the massive stone ziggurat of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, with its towering spires that pierce the eternal smog, beset by beeping speeders and the twinkling lights of nearby skyscrapers. The image fades before it forms, washed out and grey. “I don’t know what the future holds,” Obi-Wan says truthfully, even though the thought of leaving this quiet, verdant sanctuary steals his breath. His voice nearly falters for the weight pressing on lungs. “But I know how I feel and I know that nothing, not the future, not the Order, not the ghost of Odan-Urr himself is going to change that.”</p><p>Qui-Gon closes his eyes, a pained expression fleeting across his face as he presses his lips together. His jaws pulses once, twice, before he is able to speak.</p><p>“Sex changes things, Obi-Wan. Or so I’m led to believe.”</p><p>“Oh.” Obi-Wan blinks and releases a long breath as he calculates the scale of Qui-Gon’s celibacy. </p><p>“It was never something I wanted to engage in...casually. There were plenty of offers,” Qui-Gon explains.</p><p>Several awkward situations over the course of his apprenticeship flit through Obi-Wan’s memory. “I remember.” He pauses. “Not even Tahl?”</p><p>Qui-Gon shakes his head. “Almost. When we were padawans. I have my master to thank for interrupting that.”</p><p>Obi-Wan’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He gapes at the harrowing scene in his mind’s eye. </p><p>“Quite,” Qui-Gon says, snapping the ‘t’. “After that, we were friends. And Jedi.” He sighs. “Not unlike now, I suppose. Though I confess I am more afraid of losing your friendship, hurting you or disappointing you, than I am of walking away from the Order.”</p><p>“Disappointing me? How?” </p><p>“How do you think, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon says gruffly.</p><p>“You are a fool, Qui-Gon Jinn, if you think I could ever be disappointed in you over something as trivial as sex.”</p><p>“Trivial?” Qui-Gon asks sharply.</p><p>“So I’m led to believe.”</p><p>Qui-Gon narrows his eyes. “What are you saying?”</p><p>“What do you think I’m saying, Qui-Gon?” </p><p>Qui-Gon’s eyes widen in disbelief. “That can’t be. ”</p><p>Obi-Wan shrugs. “I never had the time.”</p><p>“But, I’ve seen you flirt your way out of more situations than I can count. And if I had offers, surely you had twice as many.”</p><p>“I think all Jedi have offers, to be fair. Flirting is just flattery. It doesn’t mean anything.”</p><p>Qui-Gon blows out a breath and tips his head back. “What a pair we are. Odan-Urr would be so proud.”</p><p>Obi-Wan laughs a nervous breathy laugh that lets much needed air back into his lungs. Qui-Gon snorts and laughs his own tense huff.</p><p>“Well, surely we can figure it out together. It can’t be that complicated.”</p><p>Qui-Gon’s laughter expands and he hugs Obi-Wan against him. “May the Force be with us.”</p><p>It’s easier then for Obi-Wan to slide his hands up into Qui-Gon’s silky hair and draw him into a kiss that carries the heat of the fire burning low in his belly. Qui-Gon kisses him back fiercely, with a moan that vibrates Obi-Wan’s chest and sends that fire racing through his limbs. </p><p>“Bed?” Obi-Wan bites out when his shin hits the low table for the third time and Qui-Gon stumbles against the couch.</p><p>“Mmm,” Qui-Gon agrees and takes his hand. </p><p>They make their way through the silent house to the bedroom that they have been sharing for months now. The bed that has been theirs, where they have held each other chastely in sleep, now dips under their combined weight as Obi-Wan straddles Qui-Gon’s lap. They kiss tenderly, hands and tongues exploring, seeking, savouring long-desired contact. Obi-Wan has never known Qui-Gon’s body like this, panting and heated, hurrying to cast off clothing. But then, he’s never known his own body like this either. It’s different, dizzyingly different, this time when his naked chest slides against Qui-Gon’s skin, when Qui-Gon’s hands press hot against his chilled back. </p><p>He wants, he aches, he strains to perceive every tingle of pleasure, but he cannot. He is awash in desire and joy and physical sensation so exquisite he can only surrender to his body’s instincts and Qui-Gon’s as they follow their unknown path to blissful release.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another million thank yous to DarkisRising!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spring deepens in the valley. Blue jazz and stardrop flower bloom, heady pungent scents carried by the warm wind. The days get even longer. Firemoths dart after sunset, twinkling patterns, like the stars come to earth.</p><p>Obi-Wan has spent most of his life rising early and he has always enjoyed sunrise and the peaceful moments before the world awakes, but now nighttime compels him.  Nighttime, and the things he and Qui-Gon do at night, now that their wanting is no longer confined to fleeting thoughts and willfully forgotten dreams.</p><p>He learns what Qui-Gon tastes like, and what secret noises he makes in pleasure.</p><p>What surprises him is how much nothing and everything changes at once. </p><p>Qui-Gon is still Qui-Gon. He is still himself. Their joining at first is slow, meditative, and under Qui-Gon’s intense focus he learns what he likes, what makes his toes curl and his breath come hard and what Qui-Gon's lips and cock can do to his feverish, quivering form. "It's like Light under my skin," he tells Qui-Gon one night, and Qui-Gon chuckles as he catches his breath. </p><p>He learns what Qui-Gon’s face looks like in ecstasy and learns how to take him there, how to stroke and twist and push and squirm and lick so that Qui-Gon’s pupils dilate and the tendons in his neck strain to keep himself from calling out. He learns what will have Qui-Gon growling into his hair, hips thrusting, hands spreading Obi-Wan open. He learns what Qui-Gon feels like inside him and what it's like to enter him in turn, and he knows in his veins he will never be the same.</p><p>It is intoxicating to elicit such a response, to give that kind of pleasure to Qui-Gon, whom he has loved for so long. And it is maddening, overwhelming and thrilling to need Qui-Gon’s touch—the only thing that will slake the thirst inside him and calm the bonfire to smouldering embers. </p><p>He knows why the Masters forbid this kind of passion: it is all consuming and if he and Qui-Gon hadn’t had decades of practice in balance, it would flood them even more.</p><p>He has no idea how Anakin managed all those years in secret and someday he may even ask him, but he is not ready for the flurry of questions he sees behind Anakin’s eyes every time Qui-Gon kisses him openly or slides an arm around his waist.</p><p>Mercifully his former padawan has, for the most part, kept his mouth shut, though Obi-Wan suspects that Padme has a significant amount to do with that. More than once, he’s seen her cast Anakin a look, or put a hand on his shoulder or knee while Anakin’s mouth falls open in protest and then closes with a shred of chagrin. </p><p>That first morning, he and Qui-Gon had slept late and found breakfast neatly arranged on a tray outside Obi-Wan’s bedroom door with a note saying that Padme and Anakin had taken the twins into the city to visit her sister and parents, and that they would be staying for a few nights. Both he and Qui-Gon had blushed bright enough to rival muja fruit in the summer, and then Obi-Wan had made it his priority to discover just how far down Qui-Gon’s flush really went. </p><p>They had surfaced in the afternoon, ravenous and grateful for the generous tray, but even more so for the empty house. Obi-Wan had very much doubted his ability those first few days to keep from calling Qui-Gon’s name and, Force help them both, the bed was <em>loud</em>. The day after the Naberrie-Skywalkers returned, he and Qui-Gon hauled the mattress off the bed and Obi-Wan spent the day tightening screws and applying polymer to mitigate the incessant squeaking. It was not unlike fixing droids or ship components. He had forgotten how much liked working with his hands, a comment that earned him a snort from Anakin and a smothered giggle from Padme when he’d mentioned it at dinner. She had found him in the kitchen later and told him how happy she was for the both of them with a succinct earnestness that closed the conversation as it began. He found he preferred her response to Anakin's initial reaction of punching him in the shoulder and saying “about time” with a knowing grin. </p><p>He and Qui-Gon have left questions of the Order and their Jedi-hood aside as they finish the spring planting and cook and knit and walk in the woods. Sometimes they go out with the twins strapped to their chests and holding hands.</p><p>They are living in the moment, which, aside from a deeper layer of fascination with each other and a deeper comfort in physical closeness, does not greatly differ from before <em>that night</em>, as they have come to call it. </p><p>The door in his mind beckons, and he keeps it closed, though he can hear the Dark moving and calling and clawing behind it. </p><p>“Stay here with me,” Qui-Gon tells him, when the Dark writhes and threatens to break through the door. “Stay here with me.” Just as he had said for months, whenever the Dark would overwhelm him. But now Obi-Wan can reach for Qui-Gon’s lips and put Qui-Gon’s hands on his body and focus on the myriad sensations of skin against skin, whiskers tangling, heat and wetness and firmness, strong arms around him, and the joy that radiates from his heart. </p><p>He wants to know what lies behind the door, what answers are waiting for him in the pain and memory, but he is not ready. </p><p>"Shhhh," he tells the Dark, with a hand on his heart as he watches the sun set. "Not yet."</p><p>He needs more time in the sunlight and rain and earth and sky, on teal couch cushions and soft carpets and bright white sheets in candlelight.</p>
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  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
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        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/31122701">Sunrise</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheiasilva/pseuds/antheiasilva">antheiasilva</a>
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